


Tom Riddle, Ghost

by amillefleur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Brotherly Relationship, Chamber of Secrets AU, Gen, Harry Potter AU, Harry Potter is a Good Friend, Harry is posessed, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Horcruxes, Indian Harry Potter, It's the Golden Trio but four (really five), No Bashing, Observant Harry Potter, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Ron and Hermione are KIDS and they are NICE and they are GOOD FRIENDS, Sane Tom Riddle, Smart Harry, The Golden Trio, Tom Riddle's Diary, Tom is bored, a mysterious challenger appears!, but one of them doesn't have a physical body, chapters are scenes, except i don't know how to say four in that fancy way, i say smart but its more like not dumb, please leave a comment on your way out :), smart but he works for it, stop me from tagging before i spoil future events i haven't even written yet!, there's five, updating on sundays (AEST)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 35,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillefleur/pseuds/amillefleur
Summary: Tom Riddle’s Diary is given to Harry Potter, not Ginny Weasley. With Ginny, Tom was so bored with a child he couldn’t hold a conversation with. Harry, though, is at least interesting.  He hitches a ride, and things change.Surprise! It doesn't end in disaster.
Comments: 221
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been kind of updating this every Sunday (AEST) but it's not ironclad.  
> Reviews and criticism are GREATLY APPRECIATED. PLEASE COMMENT ❤️❤️❤️❤️  
> also please turn on author's skins, or whatever its called.  
> chapters are broken up based on scenes. that means anywhere between 400 to over 1k words.  
> This next part is a test on fonts. It works on computer, but it doesn't work on my phone. If it isn't working on your phone either, i'm really sorry.  
> This is a test to check if I've set this correctly.  
> (parseltongue)  
>  and also to check if the sizing is good.  
> (tom's handwriting)  
> i think i've spent too much time on this  
> (harry's handwriting)  
> Also, as a little gift, highlight the next sentence! From here: According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. ...to here! :)

Harry woke with the sun, despite the lack of Aunt Petunia rattling at the door.

Ron’s room was still dark, as he always had his curtains drawn and the fabric was thick enough to smother all but a small, thin line of the sunlight. He laid still for a while, reaching forward to see the strip of light run over his fingers. Eventually, his stomach came knocking, and Harry slinked out the door.

Even after a few weeks at the Burrow, his body was still recovering from the latest lock-in. It wasn’t the first time he had been locked away – Uncle Vernon rather liked _that_ punishment. Harry sighed and softly moved down the stairs, feet automatically avoiding the areas where wood rubbed against the wood. He was always hungry after the summer holidays, and it was because of a crazy house elf that he was this hungry.

The kitchen was empty, but there was a pot over the fire, bubbling away merrily. On the counter, several onions and other vegetables where chopped by a knife held by nobody. Harry would be all for learning charms like those if his uncle and aunt weren’t so allergic to magic.

“Harry! Good morning!” Mrs Weasley smiled down at him as she closed the back door behind her. “I’m afraid I only _just_ started breakfast. Would you like a drink of milk instead? Keep those bones strong!”

Harry accepted the drink with polite thank-yous and sat at the seat which was closest to the kitchen.

“Off to Hogwarts again tomorrow, right? I can’t believe Ginny’s _already_ leaving! And Ron’s in his _second_ year!” Mrs Weasley continued to chatter as she twirled and waved her wand, ingredients and cooking utensils moving at her command. Harry smiled into his cup; magic was always a gift to watch.

Soon though, the preparations were done and Mrs Weasley was bustling off again, vanishing out to the backyard. Harry watched her move around the house through the various windows that were built in the Burrow. Would it be considered a ‘backyard’ if the backyard extended all around the Burrow?

Just as Harry finished his cup of milk he laid eyes on a book that rested at the other end of the table. It was dark, a dirty green, and was balanced so precariously on the edge he was sure it would fall off. Standing, Harry squeezed around the many mismatched chairs that were shoved into the space and picked up the bland book. It lacked a title, and as he opened it, the book showed no writing.

Harry touched the book, feeling the textured pages. It felt like a book made for writing; in his mind, he could see himself crouched at a desk with only an old lantern to see by, quill working furiously as he scribed his thoughts. Harry laughed at the imagery.

“Is that yours, Harry?”

He turned to see Mrs Weasley back in the kitchen, wand trained on the massive pot. It was floating away from the fire now, and a row of plates danced as they lifted themselves out of drawers and onto the table, knives and forks almost tap dancing as they did the same. It looked like it came out of a Walt Disney film.

Mrs Weasley took his silence as confirmation. “Well, when you go up to wake Ron, please put it back in your trunk. Wouldn’t want it getting dirty, after all!” she made a shooing gesture, turning to the pot to watch the stew pour with a critical eye. Harry turned the book over again. Well, it didn’t seem to have _any_ writing in it, so he may as well take it. And if Mrs Weasley didn’t recognise it, then none of her children must own it then.

He ascended the stairs and did as he was told.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh boy i hope you like the fancy writing!  
> (which you wont see unless you have creators style on!!!!)

The book was forgotten until a week into his second year of Hogwarts. He, late for Charms, was desperately tearing through his trunk to look for his summer homework and caught sight of the book. He stared at it and then shoved it into his bookbag when Ron called his name.

This time, Harry thought about the book the entire day. What would he do with it? Draw? Write? What would he write? The question plagued him until he sat for his last class of the day, and Hermione joined him on his right. He could just ask Gryffindor’s bookworm for tips.

“Hermione,” he began, “What would you write in a diary?”

The bushy-haired girl didn’t pause in pulling out several textbooks from her bag. “My day, I guess. My mum keeps one and she says it’s always amusing to go back and read what plagued her that day.”

“Hmm,” he said and Ron effectively cut the conversation short by dropping into the seat to the left of him. Later, when Harry finally retreated to his dorm, he withdrew the book from his bag and set it on his desk. A quill and inkpot followed, and Harry took a seat. He didn’t need the lone lamp though – the sun still shone through the window.

What did he do today? Well, at breakfast, the twins had set off a prank that made everyone speak incredibly formally. Harry and Ron had acted as if they were royalty, although the closest thing Harry had seen to royalty was Malfoy. Hermione rolled her eyes at first, but then suddenly broke out into a poem that sounded far more complex and archaic than anything Harry and Ron had cooked up. That was pretty cool, but then it made them late for Charms. Charms they had revised the tap-dancing charm and moved onto the waltzing charm, something that he didn’t quite get a hold off by the end of the lesson. And the day didn’t really seem to get better than that. Just classes, and lunch.

But Harry felt like his first entry shouldn’t be about Hermione performing drama. He wanted something more dramatic, so he dipped his quill in the inkpot and wrote as neat as he could:

** Its been a wek sinse my second year started and nobody has tried to kill me yet. **

Harry didn’t know where to go from there, so he paused, and lightly cursed when a fat drop of ink fell from his quill. He still didn’t know how to use them properly.

He dropped his quill into the inkpot to think more, but when he returned to the book, the line he had written had… vanished.

Who would want to kill a second year?

Harry gasped. The loopy, cursive writing appeared before him as if a ghost had their own quill. He could track how the quill made the letters and embellishments, and how smooth it was. Whoever the ghost was, this type of handwriting was second nature to him.

Also, your handwriting is atrocious. I could barely read it!

This time, Harry thought about the sentence he wanted to write beforehand, then put the quill to book page. He was embarrassed to say there was a noticeable improvement.

** Sorry I dont realy kno how to use qills **

And you don’t know basic spelling either.

Harry glared at the ghost’s writing. None of his teachers complained! And his spelling was a lot better than when he first came to Hogwarts. Quickly, he wrote that down, handwriting returning to the same messiness.

Well, why?

Harry didn’t really know how to respond to that. Several times he picked up his quill, ready to write, but only to stare blankly at the yellowish pages as his mind circled.

** I dunno **

I’ll help you then. The ghost decided, and then the page was full with the sentences he wrote. The ghost’s thinner and fancier writing quickly wrote over the top, and soon it looked like a regular potions essay. An idea spawned in his head.

can you help me with my potuns essa?

Can you help me with my potions essay? And the answer is no. I won’t simply give you answers.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat. He didn’t know who else to ask about his spelling! None of his primary school teachers had tried to correct him, ready to write him off as an idiot. And while his teachers _now_ required perfect spelling, and Hermione could easily look over his essays, every time he thought of that all he could think of was Professor Snape’s snarl.

He’d totally enjoy making fun of Harry for not having decent spelling.

There was new writing in the book, so he leaned forward and studied it.

You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?

Yeah. how did you know?

Use ‘yes,’ it’s nicer. Also, every sentence must start with a capital letter. I could tell you’re a Gryffindor because you missed the meanings of my words.

Harry could see the ghost had kept his previous writings on the page. They hadn’t moved from the first page because the ghost could wipe it clean. And recall previous lines, _and_ keep them.

Sorry. I dont get it

It’s don’t. With an apostrophe. When I said ‘I won’t simply give you answers,’ I also said something else.

Harry stared at the words. It was a little hard to see it, but now that the ghost had narrowed it down, he could at least guess.

You can give me answers but

I dunno

Don’t say ‘I dunno.’ It’s lazy. Say ‘I don’t know.’ What I was saying is that I could give you the answers, but you need to give me something in return.

Oh. Yeah, Harry could see that. Now that it was pointed out, Harry felt a little stupid.

~~Yeah~~ **Yes, I get it now.** Harry had a feeling that this ghost preferred dignified language. What do you want then

Your firstborn. By Merlin, you really are a Gryffindor. Next time, don’t let me set my end of the favour. Not unless you know exactly what I want and can use it so I will agree to the favour.

Favour?

Yes, that’s what this is called. Seeing as this is obviously your first time, I’ll be a little lenient. One, you fix your spelling. Two, you write to me every day. Entertain me.

Really Ok then.

And the ghost was off again, scolding Harry about his use of slang and lack of punctuation. Despite the harsh tone, Harry felt like he didn’t mind. Perhaps it was because the ghost wasn’t there, or he couldn’t see their face. But to Harry, the ghost was just writing on the page. And if it got him better marks in potions, then who was he to disagree?

Along with some quill writing tips, the ghost also explained the formalities and intricacies of favours. One thing he stressed is that once the favour was done, Harry was to do his best in upholding his side of it. He also used a lot of long words that made Harry’s head spin. The ghost recommended that Harry to get a dictionary, so the next day, when Hermione finally caught Harry and Ron and forced them to do their homework, Harry was trying to think of a way to find a ‘dictionary.’

Hermione shuffled her parchment a little and Harry realised his mistake. Hermione would know everything! So Harry opened his mouth –

The words refused to leave his mouth. Dimly he could see Professor Snape taunting him, Malfoy next to him, laughing as they pointed at Harry. Another glance over his work showed that he still missed so many spelling mistakes, even though he had tried to fix his errors as he went. At this point, he would have to write the essay out on new paper.

How would he ask for a dictionary though? He racked his brain for something about them. The ghost had said they were good for ‘finding another word for complex words,’ so maybe he could slip that into his work? Hermione could pick that up and maybe know he was talking about a dictionary.

Harry looked at his potions book and looked for the longest word he could find. “What does ‘conflagration’ mean?”

“A very intense and uncontrolled fire,” Hermione answered promptly. Harry frowned as her quill refused to pause. He needed to continue to push.

“And ‘emollient?’”

“A substance with a soothing effect when applied to the skin.”

“‘Obfuscate?’”

“Make obscure or unclear.”

Harry stared at his friend. For someone who was so bright, could she really be this stupid?

He shook his head. No, _he_ wasn’t being very clear. It wasn’t very nice of Harry to blame Hermione when he was the one who chose to go the difficult route.

“There are so many words I just don’t understand.” He murmured to himself, but loud enough that Hermione could easily hear him. He stubbornly frowned at his potions textbook, now realising that a lot of the words used in textbooks he could barely grasp of their definitions.

“Maybe try a dictionary.” He almost dropped his textbook and had to pinch the skin of his knee to keep a straight face.

“Where can I get one then?”

“You can use mine,” Hermione offered, finally looking up from her essay to bequeath a smile. “I haven’t needed it since fifth grade, although I do like to keep it around, _just in case_ … You’d use it more, though. I’ll go fetch it now.”

Which is how Harry came into ownership of a dictionary. It still had _Hermione Jean Granger_ printed inside the cover, but Harry had the reassurance of his friend that Harry could keep it forever. He felt a little touched that Hermione was willing to let a book go.

He also felt a little guilty in not outright _asking_ for one, but Harry just couldn’t form the words.

With the dictionary, Harry could absolutely understand his textbooks much better. When he returned to his dorm later that evening, Harry gleefully shared his accomplishments.

Good. I’m happy to see the effort. Although, essay writing isn’t just spelling and advanced words.

~~Huh?~~ Pardon?

What do you know of essay structure? I refuse to even look at any essay that doesn’t have a good structure.

With the ghost’s help, he learnt of introductory and conclusion paragraphs, to citing and quoting, and more. The ghost told him to go over his old essays to pick apart why they were so weak – and was appalled that Harry threw out his old assignments. That was another tongue lashing.

Harry pulled out his current assignments and quickly read them over. Charms was due tomorrow, and he’d done the assignment first. But on revision, he could see how unclear and blithering the text was – it wasn’t an essay, but a stream of thoughts. Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes harshly. Now that the ghost had pointed it out, Harry felt a little dumb. He _could_ leave it, but just looking at the splattered parchment felt painful.

Harry pulled the Charms textbook out and referred to the page with the homework task, dictionary at hand. Slowly, he pulled together something that was a little more respectable and fell asleep not long after. He had to skip breakfast and run to Charms to cover his tardiness, but when he handed the essay over, Professor Flitwick noticeably paused, eyes quickly darting over the first few lines.

The small man flashed a bright smile. “Looking good, Mr Potter!” Harry replied in kind and returned to his seat. Ron was still tearing through his bag.

This time, after class, Hermione dragged the two of them to the library, citing the need to reference some more books. The ghost had said that referencing was important, critical in later years, but for now, Harry was firmly staying with the regular textbooks. Writing the Potions essay was harder than Charms – he understood theory for Potions a lot less than any other subject, and he had to refer to Hermione’s dictionary nearly every ten seconds. Flipping through a voluminous book in search for _one_ word delayed him considerably, even though he found it a little fun to learn new words.

When he returned to his dorm, he flipped open the book. Yawning as he prepared his quill and ink, Harry knew that tonight would be a short conversation.

It’s so hard trying to understand the Potions textbook. How do you do it so… easily?

The ghost was ready to reply. You’re a little bit behind by my standards, but if you commit I know you can do it.

Harry smiled. It was the first time someone had been so faithful in him. He went to bed with a warm glow in his chest.

With the ghost’s words behind him, Harry liberally used his dictionary, pulling it out whenever he was met with an unfamiliar word. And with the ghost’s essay structure tips weaponised, Harry found it easier to organise his thoughts and navigate the requirements of the homework. But it wasn’t until two weeks later that Harry saw results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review to get a reply from me full with japanese emoticons. (´,,•ω•,,)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓉𝓈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i intended to upload last week but forgot. adjusting to online lectures is crazy!

Friday. Ron had woken up in his usual Friday spirits, crowing about _just a few more hours, Harry!_ It was a familiar tune; the closer the weekend, the more excited Ron was until he woke up on a Monday and realised that classes started all over again.

Hermione rolled her eyes when Ron came bounding down the stairs. Together the three of them headed down for breakfast. Once Ron had made Hermione make a face of disgust three times, they were off to Transfiguration.

“I will be returning your homework on Barjwelo’s Scintillating Six Spells.” Professor McGonagall flicked her wand and the pile of rolls on her table disassembled and returned to the writers. “Once again, I must recommend you all for describing the spells to me – and in one case, a rather riveting tale of using it on a friend – but I am vexed to see that very few of you accomplished the task I had set. Barjwelo’s Spells may appear indistinguishable at first, but the essays I have received two weeks ago has revealed that the minute differences need to be taught again.”

Harry could hear her over the light chatter of students analysing their latest marks, but he was too absorbed in rereading his essay. Now that he could make a better essay, the work before him was rather lacklustre. And _riddled_ with spelling mistakes. Harry paused as he stopped at a rather large blotch of ink. It took a second to realise it _wasn’t_ a stray drop from a quill, but his past self repeatedly writing the same word over and over until the ink blurred together.

Harry couldn’t fault Professor McGonagall for the multitudes of question marks and ‘Mr Potter, I’m not sure what you meant here.’ He felt his stomach squirm and twist, staring at the Acceptable written at the bottom of the parchment.

Transfiguration was a quick review of the Scintillating Six Spells and a review of what they had learnt of that week. Class closed with another essay set by the Professor, due Tuesday. Ron immediately groaned but didn’t voice his objections too loudly, because from experience every student knew that Professor McGonagall would take points.

Charms was next, and also started with Professor Flitwick handing out marked essays. Now Harry was sitting on the edge of his seat and his back straight, inkpot almost strangled by how tight he was clutching it with both his hands.

Unlike Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick handed them out one by one, rewarding hard workers with compliments and admonishing slackers. He approached Ron first, handing over the essay with a curt-for-him “Mr Weasley; you forgot half the task!” and an answering groan by the red-haired boy. Hermione was awarded a large smile and the usual “Just wonderful, Miss Granger.” 

Then, he turned to Harry. “Mr Potter! I was shocked!”

“Pardon?” Harry’s heart plummeted even as he accepted the scroll and began to unroll it. Maybe it _was_ a stupid choice to redo an entire essay the night before. He scrutinised his two-week-old work – it was an improvement from last class’ essay, but compared to the essay he turned in yesterday, it was just a shocker.

“Well, your work was just wonderful! I was so excited I checked yesterday’s essay and almost fell out of my chair when I saw that it was _better!_ ” the scroll reached the end and Harry stared at the EE written in Professor Flitwick’s long and thin handwriting, an equally large ‘ _WELL DONE!’_ beside it.

The short man took Harry’s hand in both of his and shook it well. “I’m happy to see that you have decided to put effort into Charms!”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” He murmured, still blinking sharply down at the cheerful blue ink that the Charms professor favoured. He’d never gotten an Exceeds Expectations for Charms before. Typically, it bounced from P to A, and the As were extremely sporadic. To think that having an essay structure would bounce him up to an EE _and_ he had improved from two weeks ago…

Dazed, Harry carefully put the essay into his bag and focused on the class. Hermione congratulated Harry on his marks while bouncing in her seat and clapping enthusiastically. Harry could feel himself picking up on her energy and replied in kind, complimenting Hermione’s essay, which he hadn’t done in a while.

During lunch, Harry was struck with the realisation that Professor Snape was highly likely to return marked essays too. He was halfway to standing up when his legs locked and he fell back down. Wincing, Harry removed the form from under his forearm, and instead took a shaky sip of his orange juice.

“Harry?” Hermione questioned. “Are you alright?”

His first thought was to wave it off. Then Harry shook his head and dropped his head on his hand, propped up by the table. “You know how… I’m trying at my essays?” Hermione’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! I _have_ to say, I can’t help but be excited and happy for you!”

“Well,” Harry sighed to cut off Hermione. “Potions is next.”

“Oh man,” Ron moaned, and would Harry believe it, his fork paused as he recalled the timetable the three shared. “ _Double potions._ ”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the essay?”

Ron shrugged. “I can’t fix what’s already handed in. Although Harry, how _did_ you get so… good?”

Harry flushed. It was still embarrassing to think about it. “Well, someone said I should have an essay structure. And Hermione’s dictionary really helped.”

The dark-skinned girl nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. The first time I read the Potions textbook I was a little thrown by the archaic language.”

“That sounds like too much _woooork_.” Ron moaned, causing Harry to laugh and Hermione gasp in outrage.

Ten minutes later, Professor Snape allowed his class into the lab and they settled, Ron with Harry and Hermione with Neville as usual. The Gryffindors were dead silent, but on the other side of the room, the Slytherins conversed among themselves lowly.

Professor Snape appeared from behind them, door banging open and essay scrolls flying through the air. Unlike Professor McGonagall, the bat let the scrolls drop to the desks loudly. Ron picked his up and opened it easily enough, barely reacting to the P. Harry, on the other hand, found himself slowly unrolling it, eyes flickering to each comment.

There was a lot less vivid red – Professor Snape’s preferred ink colour – but the scathing remarks and belittling insults were no less strong. The conclusion paragraph appeared and Harry was left looking at a wonderful, wonderful _Acceptable_.

It wasn’t accompanied by any remark, the lack of which puzzled Harry. Other professors liked to leave one or two words of encouragement or reprimand, and Professor Snape wrote sentences about how thick Harry’s skull was. Today, however, the bat hadn’t insulted him.

“Mr _Potter._ ”

Harry looked up to see the teacher in question tower over him.

“Sir?” he straightened, quickly rolling up the scroll to place in his bag.

The bat narrowed his eyes at him. “Have you finally found a sycophant?”

Harry blinked. Why would he need a follower – oh, his essay. The bat thought that Harry had gotten someone else to write it.

Just as Professor Snape opened his mouth again, Harry cut in. “No, sir. If you’re questioning my essay’s legitimacy, I can assure you that I did write it. I asked someone for _help_ , not answers.”

The man’s mouth clamped shut with a snarl. “A first. If you want to be _smart_ , then I am expecting your future essays to be of equal quality. Maybe you can give Mr Weasley direction to that _help_.”

Ron waited until the bat’s back was turned before rolling his eyes. Then, he held his hand out for a fist bump. “That was wicked cool!” Harry laughed with his friend but was happier over his marks.

When he returned to his dorm, he placed the essay into his steadily growing collection and quickly climbed into his bed, pulling out his book.

I got an EE in Charms and an A in Potions!!!!!!!

Well done! It really was all up to you; you could’ve ignored everything I said.

But that was our agreement, wasn’t it? I’d improve? 

I have had massive pleasure in watching your sentences grow in complexity. But you still have to hold up another part of your arrangement. While you have been writing to me every day, I must say academics, certainly in second-year, are a little dry for me.

What year are you?

Seventh. So you must agree that it is a little boring to talk about hair growth potion. Tell me more about yourself now.

I’m Harry Potter. 

Hello, Harry, I’m Tom Riddle.

The ghost had a name! Harry grinned as he scrawled more words onto the page.

I like Quidditch, although Charms seems a little more interesting now that I can understand the textbook and get better marks. 

It is always easier to excel when you enjoy a subject. I liked Potions and Ancient Runes for that reason.

Ancient Runes? What was that?

Tom easily replied. It’s a third-year elective. At the end of second-year students get to choose more subjects to take, on top of the core subjects. I recommend Ancient Runes, but there are other subjects as well. It depends on if you want an easy O or a subject that challenges you.

Harry could almost hear the unspoken dare written in the last sentence. He’d begun to pick up that trick quickly because Tom was rather good at slipping double meanings into every sentence. He was like a weaver, picking the right colour of words to create masterpieces that could shift at various angles. Harry had come to enjoy it, like Hermione’s passionate speeches on the smallest of spells, and Ron’s constant chess games.

We’ll see! He tried to put extra excitement into the words by underlining the sentence, but it just looked weird. Tom took the sentence before he could erase it, moving onto another topic. Tom _was_ right – it was far more interesting to talk about other things than just academics. That night Harry didn’t go to bed until late.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know its short, i'm uploading the next chapter as soon as I do the font coding!

October came and went, and on November the first, Harry walked down for breakfast to see a large gathering at the notice board. As he approached the fringes of the crowd, Hermione materialised by his side.

“It’s a Duelling Club,” she said promptly, standing on the edge of her toes to peer over student's heads. One finger twirled around and tugged one of her curly strands of hair. “I _really_ hope it’s Professor Flitwick, oh I _do…_ ”

Ron appeared from the crowd. He had already ducked ahead to fight his way to the front. “Just says the first session is next Friday. Great Hall, 5 pm.”

Harry shrugged. “May as well sign up.”

Hermione nodded ferociously, Ron not far behind.


	5. Chapter 5

It was _not_ run by Professor Flitwick. In fact, Professor Flitwick wasn’t attending the Club at all. Instead, they had to deal with the ostentatious robes of _Lockhart_ as he strode from one end of a long low lying table to the other. Every time he reached the end he would pose, and then turn so dramatically his robes would fare out in a circle.

“The bat is magnitudes better,” he whispered to Ron and Hermione. Hermione stubbornly elbows Harry, because he forgot that she was still devoted to the peacock, but Ron cackled and held out his hand for a fist bump.

“Welcome welcome!” Lockhart cried, spreading his arms wide. “This is the first session of the Duelling Club! Come in, come in, no need to stand all the way over _there!_ ” Harry turned to where Lockhart was waving at – students, gathering at the entrance to the Great Hall. Some of them scampered, no doubt doing what Harry and Ron wanted to do as soon they stepped into the Hall: run away.

There was a minuscule chance that Harry would learn _anything_ at this Club.

“You’re a little too far spread out, so come closer.” Lockhart smiled at them, no doubt referencing the clear line between his adoring fans and sceptics. Begrudgingly, the latter group shuffled forward. “Let’s start off this session with a BANG! First, I will use this dummy to demonstrate.” He waved his wand and a dummy appeared at one end.

“The first spell we will learn is the disarming charm! Very useful! It’s saved my lives _many_ times in the past.” He strode so he was at the other end of the table, robes flaring _again_. “The incantation is _expelliarmus_ and the wand movement is as such!” He moved his arm with great flair, and when compared to the other charms they’d learnt in class, Harry suspected most of it was redundant. Lockhart’s wand lit in red, and the spell travelled across the space to hit the mannequin. It looked a little sluggish, and if he was on his broom he could’ve easily rolled out of the way.

“There! Now, let us practice!” Lockhart flashed his Award-Winning smile at the closest line of students. “Let’s pair off!”

There was a momentarily pause, as every student processed the peacock’s words. Was he seriously just going to show the incantation and wand movement? Then, someone suddenly shouted someone’s name and the Great Hall descended into chaos.

Ron clutched Harry’s arm, his own hand automatically reaching up to Ron’s. They gave each other looks and waited for the disorder around them to subside. Lockhart jumped down from his table and began to shove students apart, giving enough space for duellers to stand a few metres apart.

“Alright, we begin!”

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ “ _EXPELLIARMUS!” “Expelliarmus?” “Expelliarmus.”_

Voices echoed around the Hall, but Harry was too busy trying to remember the awful wand movement Lockhart hardly demonstrated. Hermione was beside him, arm moving far too much, even for Lockhart’s demonstration. Helpless, Harry looked back at Ron, whose face was screwed up in concentration. To Harry’s surprise, rather than abandoning it, Ron attempted the spell. A red light erupted from his wand, and not even from where it was taped together. Harry allowed the spell to hit him, even though it was slow enough to dodge. There wasn’t much space either side of him, anyway.

Ron strode forward to pick up Harry’s wand and return it. “Load of barmy.” He irritably said, arms crossed. Harry nodded.

“I guess if we really want to learn it we’ll have to go to the library.” He grinned at Ron’s disgusted face. “Good job on remembering the wand movement, though.”

Ron looked pleased. “Thanks, Harry.”

Lockhart was climbing back up onto the stage, his hair looking less than perfectly coiffed. “Good, good, you were all very good!” Slowly, the shouts and duels cut off. “Now, let’s have a demonstration.” Lockhart’s empty eyes surveyed the crowd; Harry stiffened and slowly lowered himself until he was crouched, dragging Ron down with him.

“How about… Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger!” Lockhart decided.

Harry turned wide-eyed to Ron, who was torn between chuckling and horror. “This is going to end _terribly_ ,” he moaned.

Both of them straightened to see Hermione and Malfoy clamber up the low lying table with determination. Malfoy had that arrogant smirk, whereas Hermione’s mouth was set in a thin line. Both of them had their wand ready by their leg. Harry began to pull Ron closer, not wanting to push through the crowd when whatever would happen did happen.

“Are you ready?” Lockhart asked. Hermione broke her concentration to beam at the peacock, while Malfoy grimaced. Harry almost could relate to him. “Begin!”

The curly-haired girl started off with Lockhart’s stupid charm, but Malfoy had no intention.

His wand lashed out. “ _Serpensortia!”_ a black coil launched from Malfoy’s wand, landing mere metres from Hermione. To her credit, she did not falter, finishing the spell and then training her wand on the conjured snake. Malfoy was too busy preening to notice Hermione’s disarming spell, and his wand launched from his hand. Good, that was one distraction gone.

The snake moved, and the crowd scrambled back, except for Harry, who was trying to reach Hermione. The snake was attracted by the movement and connected eyes with him.

“Ah, don’t worry Harry, I’ve got this,” Lockhart called, but his voice sounded like outside his bubble.

Because – Harry could understand the snake.

“Who summoned me? Where am I? I’m HUNGRY give me FOOD-”

Turns out that Harry really did talk to that zoo snake. And well, that snake understood _Harry_ when he talked back, so no harm trying it with the agitated danger noodle?

“Hello there. You’re not in any harm. Please calm down.” He called, and he could _feel_ that it was Not English.

“Do you have any food?”

Harry grimaced. No, he didn’t, because who was prepared to deal with an angry snake every day? Maybe Malfoy could deal with this, seeing as it was his conjured snake.

“Malfoy, I don’t suppose you have a rat?” The snake still had its eyes trained to him. “Go to the small boy. He was the one who summoned you.”

“Thanks, Talker!” Harry smirked as the snake turned away from Hermione, slithering back to a trembling Lockhart and a white-faced Malfoy. Students were stampeding to get away from the table, pressed up against the walls. Hermione carefully lowered herself off the table, next to Harry. Ron joined in seconds, freckles standing out.

“You can’t blame me for returning the snake back to Malfoy, right? He conjured it, he can deal with a hungry snake.” Harry grinned, only to falter when Hermione shakily responded. Ron did not. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Uh – Parseltongue is a little rare,” Hermione both looked a little disturbed and intrigued. “And has a reputation.”

“No kidding,” Ron interjected.

Harry blinked and turned back to the snake. “Oh, damn. Hey, uh, could you come back here? I can take you out to the forest. Lots of rodents and other healthy snacks.”

The snake paused and looked back to Harry. He pointed to the Great Hall’s doors and began to walk.

“You won’t bite me? Or any other human?”

“If I get a reward, Talker!”

“Of course,” Harry soothed and held his arms out. The snake knew what to do, which was a relief. Harry had never carried a snake before. It climbed up his arms and around his shoulders, then wound around his other arm for security. “Let’s go. Can you get an actual teacher?” he said this to Hermione and Ron. Hermione thankfully didn’t protest that Lockhart was a teacher.

Harry took the snake out taking measured steps. The snake watched the surroundings carefully but didn’t mind when Harry quickened his pace as they exited the castle. As they got closer, the snake got more excited, tasting food on its tongue.

Just as Harry knelt in the grass, the snake whipped around. It was Professor Snape, and he had his wand raised.

“ _Vipera evanesca!”_

The snake vanished in a puff of black smoke. Harry slumped, finally letting go of his breath. The snake didn’t feel right to Harry. Unlike the zoo snake, the conjured snake felt charged. Angry.

“Stupid boy, _what_ were you doing?” Professor Snape ground out.

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “Hermione said it’s a rare ability and the snake was really hungry, so I evacuated it.”

The bat stared at Harry, took a deep sigh, and released it. “Of course you wouldn’t know how significant Parseltongue is.”

“Sorry for growing up in the muggle world,” he bit back and stood. He didn’t begin to move back to the castle, because Professor Snape looked like he was about to assign Harry a week of detentions.

Instead, he spun – his robe flare _was_ better than Lockhart’s – and stalked back. With no choice, Harry followed him. The bat was silent until they reached the main entrance to the castle. There, he spun until he faced Harry.

“…Some students will say that Parseltongue is _evil._ I think their less than standard performances in _manners_ will inform you of how dim-witted they are.” Without waiting for Harry’s reply, Professor Snape vanished into the castle.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for him and ran over as soon as they spotted him.

“Harry! You’re alright!”

“You ok, mate?”

Harry waved off their concerns. “Professor Snape vanished the snake. I’m fine. Let’s agree to not come to the Duelling Club anymore.”

Ron nodded feverishly. Hermione looked a little put-out but conceded.

“Have you always talked to snakes?” Hermione quizzed.

“I guess? But my first memory is just before first year. I was talking to a snake in a muggle zoo, although I didn’t realise I was speaking in another language.”

They had arrived in the main corridors at that point, and most of the students around were Duelling Club attendees. Malfoy was among the lot, looking a little less panicked, and a lot more incentive.

“Potter!” he spat. “What the hell was that?”

“Uh, saving you from a hungry snake.” He replied. Malfoy scowled.

“I can’t believe you are a Parseltongue!” he grumbled and threw up his hands. How did he offend the Malfoy heir _this_ time? “That’s just unbelievably _unfair_!”

The boy next to him – Zabini – grinned. “I’m not angry though. Anytime you’re denied something it’s always a good show.” Harry looked at Malfoy again and realised he looked like Dudley, right in the throes of a tantrum because Aunt Petunia couldn’t buy something. Harry couldn’t help but laugh and smile at Zabini.

“Good luck, I think he’ll be at it for a few days.” He said and left the Slytherins there. Turning back to Hermione and Ron, he said “Come on. I think I want to lie down for a while. The snake really bothered me.”

Hermione smiled back, and this time it reached her eyes. “I do think it’s time for a nap.”

“Nanna nap?” Ron questioned, a grin on his face.

“Nananananana…” Harry immediately began.

Hermione laughed. “Batman!”

They returned to their dorms without any more hassle. Harry pulled out Tom’s diary and placed it on the bed, ink pot and quill balanced on top. Heavier than he meant to, he fell onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Ron came in from the bathroom and after a little chit chat, fell asleep on his bed too.

He wanted to have a little time with Tom first, though, so he drew the curtains and propped the pillow up. Harry stared at the open page of Tom’s book, but his mind was not on his friend. Rather, it was on the day’s events, where the day seemed good until it wasn’t.

Tom he wrote and paused.

Yes, Harry?

Is being a Parseltongue… evil?

There’s a lot to unpack here. Harry readied for one of Tom’s lectures. They were always fascinating, and Harry always found himself considering the world in a new way. It was the reason why he got much better marks in class now.

First, what is the definition of ‘evil?’

Harry pulled out Hermione’s dictionary. Profoundly immoral or wicked. Everyone was acting really weird today about it.

Dark doesn’t mean evil Harry. Furthermore, Parseltongue is an ability, not a personality trait or ideology. How can speaking to snakes mean that you are Dark? Your friend would be more accurate to say that those who are Dark often can speak Parseltongue.

So, just because I can speak Parseltongue doesn’t mean I’m evil?

Tom paused before writing, the little cue that he had sighed. Once again, Dark doesn’t mean evil. Dark is simply a type of magic, just like Light magic. History is written by winners, and the Light love to glorify themselves. I’d love to show you a book about ‘evil’ Light users.

You can speak Parseltongue? Can you understand me even if I write like this?

Harry squinted at the last sentence. It was… different. It _looked_ like English, and he could read it just as easily as English, but his mind just said no.

Yes. How do I write like that?

It takes some practice. At first, try thinking of snakes as you write, or speak. Like you’re trying to speak to a snake.

I don’t really want to speak to snakes.

Tom paused again. Harry, you have Indian ancestry, right?

My dad was an Indian.

The reason why Parseltongue is so rare and feared in Great Britain is that only the Slytherin line has ever had it. That’s because there are not many snakes here. In India, though, they have thousands. It would make more sense if speaking to snakes was more common in a country where there were considerably more snakes, right?

Yes, I agree. Harry smiled down at the book, relieved. Parseltongue was a link to his dad! There wasn’t much he could claim from his parents. The invisibility cloak, yeah, and the photobook, that as well. But a talent that could be traced from his dad’s family. It wasn’t like simple ease in flying – this was a magical ability passed down through magic. Thanks, Tom.

Anytime Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i added Indian harry to the tags list? I gotta check that...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is a line of Italian in this chapter that I fully admit I google translated.  
> those of u who speak Italian, I'm so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's the birthday bicth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> MEEEEE ITS ME IM 19 TODAY OK THANKS BYE PLS REVIEW & SHARE

The next day, when Harry ventured downstairs to the Gryffindor Common Room, he caught many a people staring at him. He shuffled to the side, waiting for Ron and Hermione, and together they quickly left the tower.

When he first arrived at Hogwarts, just over a year ago, people stared at _him_. They pushed friends over to peer at _him_ , they ran into walls because they were too busy looking at _him,_ Professor Snape handed out detention after detention because people were too busy staring at _him_ …

Today felt… the same, but completely different. They _did_ stare, but when Harry caught them, they looked away. It felt like the students of Hogwarts didn’t want him there, but also _did_ want him there.

Huh? It didn’t make much sense in Harry’s head either.

The teachers stubbornly refused to treat him any different. Professor McGonagall gave him the exact same amount of points if he could accomplish a spell quickly, and Professor Snape seized the same amount of points for exactly the same reasons.

Then, one day, Hedwig fluttered down with a letter in her beak. Harry took it and regarded the unfamiliar paper and family crest. He cracked it open and unfolded a small rectangular parchment.

_ To Heir Potter,  _

_ Recently, you have come public of your special ability regarding Parseltongue. I would be delighted to ask for your assistance.  _

_ I am in the ownership of a lovely grass snake as a companion. If you wouldn’t mind, could you please check if Elena, my snake, is comfortable and requires anything.  _

_ I would be happy to reimburse you.  _

_ Blaise Zabini  _

_ Erede dell'Impero Romano  _

Harry stared at the piece of paper, wordlessly handing it over to Hermione when she made a noise of inquiry. “Do I need to write a letter back? Or do I go talk to him now?”

Hermione frowned. “Well, it’s a very nice letter.”

“We’ve got Potions tomorrow morning,” Ron shovelled a scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth as he paused. “Talk to him then?” Hermione grimaced but stubbornly ignored the redhead, nodding at Harry.

“Sounds reasonable,” he agreed and pocketed the letter. “It would be interesting to meet a domestic snake. I’ve only ever talked to conserved snakes.”

“What’s it like, speaking Parseltongue?” Hermione immediately questioned.

He waved his hand. “It sounds like English to me. But like, Not English? I don’t know how to explain it. Sorry, Hermione.”

“Do you think you could teach it?”

He thought about the language, trying to recall sentence patterns or even vocab. “Uh, my name is ‘Harry.’”

Harry paused and frowned. “Wait, that was English. My name is Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.”

Hermione looked a tad upset. “I can’t tell the difference! It’s just very soft hissing.”

Ron frowned. “Haray.”

“Not quite. Harry.”

Ron tried again and succeeded. Harry smiled at him, giving his friend a thumbs up when his eyes widened and blinked rapidly. “You’re not joking? I’m saying it right?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I can understand you.”

Ron frowned down at his food. “Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.” Harry quickly looked across to where Hermione was sitting. Sitting next to Ron and across from Hermione, it was like the world had inserted a mirror in the past few days. Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived, spoke Parseltongue, an apparently evil trait. Ron, the laziest boy in Hogwarts, managed to pick something up quicker than Hermione, the smartest girl in Hogwarts.

Would Hermione be offended? She had the slightest downturn of her eyebrows, but maybe that was concentration. Harry found himself reflecting Hermione’s expression.

“Karae.” Hermione finally attempted, and immediately squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for something.

“…uh, not quite.” He admitted. _Not even close_ , he kept to himself. But despite that, Hermione slumped in her seat.

“God damn it,” she cursed, very, very, softly. Her mouth was flatter than the table’s surface, and she gripped her fork until the skin around it was white. Her steak got murdered very quickly.

Ron questioned Harry throughout the course of dinner and afterwards. He was still chanting the few sentences he had learned when they went to bed. Harry could still hear Ron going at it as he pulled out Tom’s book and closed the curtains around his bed.

Tom! He greeted. Can non-native speakers of Parseltongue learn it?

Yes, but it’s incredibly hard to learn. I tried to teach it to a friend, and he never got past learning my name and a few other vocabs.

“My name is Ron. My name is Ron. What’s your name? What’s your name? How are you? How are you? I’m good. I’m good. Harry. Harry. My name is…”

Ron picked it up pretty quick. I can still hear him, even though he’s in another bed!

The magic of Parseltongue amplifies it to native speakers. If Ron does learn it – I would give Ron a _huge_ medal if he did – he would never be able to hear snakes without a special charm to amplify his hearing. Spells like that are incredibly dangerous, so don’t go hunting in the library!

Wow! I’ll tell him tomorrow. I have another question. A Slytherin mailed me, asking if I could translate for him. He has a pet snake, you see. But I’m not sure if I should write a letter or just talk to him in person.

If you were another Slytherin, then I’d say a letter, but you? Just talk to him in Potions tomorrow.

Do you think that 

Harry paused here, not quite sure how to word it.

I’ve never really talked to Zabini before, but yesterday he made a really good joke about Malfoy and didn’t sneer at me. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sneer at me, like Malfoy and Parkinson. Do you think he’s trustworthy?

Zabini? I recommend to always get on the good side of any Zabini. Friendship is even better. But if you’re worried about blood purity, Zabini’s aren’t British.

They aren’t? Does that make a difference?

Of course! While there is blood purity outside of the UK, it’s not as common as British purebloods. And the Zabini’s have ties to the Muggle world, so they frequently wed Muggles.

That’s fascinating. 

A thought occurred to Harry. What was _Tom’s_ views on blood purity? He’d mentioned to Tom that Hermione was the brightest witch in all of Hogwarts, no lie, but got plenty of harassment from purebloods like Malfoy. Tom hadn’t reacted, but it was hard to see the face of an invisible ghost.

Without realising it, Harry had written Tom’s name down, followed by a question mark. He gripped his quill and quickly scrawled out the next question.

What’re your views on blood purity?

Oh, dear. I was waiting for this.

Harry picked at the cover of the book, then pulled on a loose thread of his shirt. Tom’s words were almost hesitant as they appeared on the page.

Alright, Harry. I’m going to say somethings that MIGHT seem anti-muggle born. God knows what Dumbledore would say.

First of all, I’m a half-blood. My father was a Muggle, although my mother was a pure-blood. However, I never knew them, because I grew up in the Muggle world.

Like me. He quickly scrawled before Tom could continue.

Like you, he agreed. I was introduced to the incredible magical world of Wizardry when I too received my Hogwarts letter. I went from a forgotten nobody to a new life. It was amazing. I could wave my wand and my clothes could turn purple with rancid orange sequins! I could fly on a broomstick around a live dragon!

I’m not so sure about you, because you said that everyone expected you to have a magical upbringing, but when I joined the magical world, I was given a few sheets of information paper, regaling me with all the facts and tips for my new life at Hogwarts. I was told that Magical Britain had a lifestyle much like the Muggle – but I couldn’t be more wrong.

I was sorted into Slytherin, and back then I didn’t know I was a half-blood. Everyone, including me, thought I was a muggle-born, and gave me an incredibly hard time. But not for what you think.

Harry tilted his head to the side, trying to imagine Tom’s life here in Hogwarts.

I won’t lie – Slytherin is mostly made up of purebloods. This is because a lot of them are families with businesses and ‘ambitious, cunning and strong leading’ are perfect for running a business, so parents try to foster these traits in their kids. Business is also built on ties and favours. Nearly all the Slytherins in my grade, and no doubt yours too, had known each other from a very young age. I was a stranger, a person unfamiliar. It didn’t help that I outstripped every single one of them academically.

_Like Hermione_ , Harry thought but didn’t add that.

I didn’t know their habits too. I didn’t know how to cultivate favours and ties, I didn’t know how to correctly speak, because back in my day, young children hardly went to primary school. I was also dirt poor. I had no money, so I had no worth to the other Slytherins, and those who could see I was smart were put off by my lack of business skills.

I figured that out quickly and adapted. You adapted quickly too, Harry! Your writing has improved by leaps and bounds, you’ve started to interpret my wording correctly and tomorrow you’ll start your first favour.

To be honest, Harry didn’t realise that Zabini had called for a favour. Oops.

But what I didn’t realise until almost my third year – I didn’t know the culture.

Have you ever been to another country, Harry?

No.

This will be a little harder then. Culture is incredibly important when you go to another country. The culture between Japan and the UK is like polar opposites. The difference in culture between the USA and the Soviet Union is like the difference between the air and the earth. Even France and the UK differ. Knowing the culture is crucial when fitting in. For example, in Japan, if you enter a house you must always take off your shoes? But in the UK, it doesn’t matter. In France and China, a popular meal is frog legs. I bet you’re making a disgusted face.

He was.

But to the French and Chinese, this is normal, and they would be heavily offended if you spat in their face and told them you despised them for eating frog legs. How would you like it if someone told that eating tart is the heaviest sin known to the world and they hoped you would die? It’s not a nice thing to be inconsiderate of another culture.

Oh, I’ve thought of a better comparison. Do you remember how everyone reacted when you spoke Parseltongue? When I revealed that I spoke it, I was degraded, hated and attacked. All because I spoke another language.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon don’t like it when people can’t speak perfect English. He thought the same thing, until a teacher with a heavy Egyptian accent came by and suddenly had a passionate speech in his elementary class about the effort it goes into speaking another language and how a lot of English people expect him to speak without an accent, but wouldn’t bother to learn another language. Every time from then on, Harry thought of that teacher whenever Uncle Vernon came home talking horribly of a client or boss that had an accent.

It’s not nice, isn’t it? I didn’t like many of my classmates from then on. I carried that hate they spat at me until this very day. I don’t think I could ever forgive them.

This is what blood purity came from. Hate that people carried inside their hearts from long ago until today. Muggle-borns have existed from before recorded history and will exist forevermore. They won’t vanish, even if blood purists murder all that live today. But why the animosity? Well, muggle-borns don’t realise that they’re stepping into another country. This isn’t Britain with a bonus of magic, this is Magical Britain.

Most British Muggle-borns are Christian or some faith of that line. Christianity strictly believes that magic is blasphemous, a sin, the act of the devil. They shame it, they shun it, they hunt it down. When Muggle-borns come into Magical Britain, they hated everything about it. They reacted worse than my classmates.

Those that remember the worst actions are those who don’t have many interactions of Muggles, e.g. pure blood. They do interact with Muggle-borns, but most of them haven’t realised that they’re in a whole new culture, which does not help in the slightest. It’s a circle, and so far nobody’s tried to break it.

Muggle-borns are never told, so they grow up trying to change a ‘backwards society,’ not realising that they’re insulting someone’s culture. Their language. Their customs. Yes, some traditions can go, but muggle-borns hardly see the difference between a barbaric tradition and culture. Think of Japan – if they came to Britain, they would expect everyone to take off their shoes. If nobody told them differently, then they wouldn’t like the country and would never return. If someone did warn them, then they’d be a little more welcome, right?

You and I might be half-bloods, but we’re still muggle raised. We need to learn the culture just as much as Hermione or any other muggle-born. It took me a lot of time, and sometimes there are little things that still trip me up. But it’s the same as travelling countries. If you speak a little of their language, know a little about their customs, then they will be far, far, far more welcoming.

Harry thought about Hermione interested in his Parseltongue and Ron’s strong attempt at learning it. Tom had a point; they had done a lot more than the rest of the school. Rather than ignoring it – or if he had not been Indian, shunning it – like the rest of the school, they familiarised themselves with it and even tried to learn it.

You know what? I think you’re right. I’ve got to learn the language and know the customs. 

I’m happy to hear that. I would’ve loved for someone to pull me aside in first year and tell me this.

Can you teach me what you know?

Of course, and I won’t even start a favour over it. But a small warning Harry – my knowledge might be a little old. I only know what has been written on this book’s pages, so some of my information might be a little outdated.

Just enough to amaze Zabini tomorrow. I’ll ask him too.

Impressive thinking! He should be a much better teacher because he’s had to adapt from Magical Italian culture to Magical British. Now, my first lesson is…


	7. Chapter 7

Walking from the Great Hall to Potions was nerve-wracking. He didn’t loath Potions so much since he’d learnt how to compose a decent essay because Professor Snape wasn’t so hard on him now that he had decent grades (who would’ve known?). But it was the group of Slytherins outside the door that had his hands tugging on loose threads.

“Oh _no,_ ” Ron suddenly gasped from beside him. Hermione looked over her shoulder as she was in front of them. “I’ve forgotten my Potions textbook!”

Hermione looked similarly horrified. Like any instance they had forgotten something important, Hermione checked her own bag. _Un_ like any other occasion, she rifled through her bag, motions increasing with every second. “ _Me too!”_ she almost shrieked.

“Come on, let’s run!” Ron grabbed Hermione’s arm. “You go ahead; Snape _really_ doesn’t like you to be late.” Harry watched them vanish – spotting two very familiar books in Ron’s bag.

He started to smile. It might’ve been a little silly. Ok yeah, it definitely was a very silly grin.

Harry approached the Slytherins by himself. Malfoy clearly had watched Hermione and Ron runoff, because he was waiting in front of the crowd with his arms crossed and a cocky smile on his face.

“They’re going to be late!” he crowed. Harry ignored him and walked past. Tom had highlighted that purebloods really liked calm, collected behaviour. As much as fighting back was fun, it wasn’t very graceful. (This doesn’t include a witty comeback, Tom added. But I don’t think you’re ready for those yet.) Malfoy didn’t expect his actions. “What are you doing?!”

“Making friends with the _right_ sort.” He shot back. Malfoy gasped, picking up on his reference to their first train ride. Harry smiled at Zabini, who had the biggest grin he’d seen on a Slytherin. “Zabini, how do you do?”

Greetings in Magical Britain didn’t include a handshake, or a bow, or any kind of gesture. This was because, as Tom explained, for a very long time, meeting a friend would be commenced by tucking your wand away. Seeing as they were children, they weren’t expected to do anything. It was very different from Ron’s introduction.

“I am well, thank you.” Zabini greeted. “Beautiful entrance.”

“I’m learning to not react to him.”

“Excellent. Now only Draco will make a fool of himself.” They shared a grin.

“Can you tell me about Elena?” Harry prompted.

“She’s a Tessellated Water snake, and her favourite food is eggs. Or at least, I think it is.” Harry nodded his head in acknowledgement. “She lives in a terrarium, although lately, I’ve worried if it’s too small, or maybe not suitable. She’s been acting a little differently, but also has been taking far too long to digest food. I’m a little worried.”

“I’m free at lunch,” Harry offered. Zabini thought about it.

“Maybe after classes,” he chose. “Non-Slytherins aren’t allowed into the Common Room so I’ll have to prepare something to get her tank out. Thank you very much, Potter.”

“Call me Harry.” He said and grinned. “As I hope we’ll be friends from here onwards.”

Zabini raised an eyebrow. In fact, the other Slytherins around them looked a little shocked too. But the Italian boy inclined his head. “Of course. Please, call me Blaise.” Harry almost jumped in joy but held back to just bouncing on his feet. He’d pulled off his first favour!

The lab door jumped open, a signal from Professor Snape that the classroom was now open. The Slytherins filed in first, the Gryffindors behind them. Harry stepped up to his usual table but found that Blaise had followed him.

He looked around. “I suppose that Ron and Hermione will be late.” He’d have to thank them later. Ron had stolen Hermione’s book at some point, and in payment the two of them would have detention with Professor Snape. “Thank you for being my partner.”

Blaise smirked. “I’ve noticed that your grades have been improving, but it’s hard to accomplish good in-class potion making when your partner doesn’t put in the same effort.” Last year, Harry would’ve taken that as a personal offence against Ron, but now Harry realised he was talking in general – even Hermione struggled with Neville beside her.

“I do want to see how people who have been doing this for years do it. I still feel like I’m missing something.”

Blaise thought about it but was interrupted by both doors opening. Professor Snape, Ron and Hermione stared at each other, until Hermione dragged Ron over to the tables.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but we had to go fetch the potions textbook.” Hermione dropped her eyes to the floor. Ron didn’t look one bit remorseful.

“Miss Granger, with Mr Nott. Mr Weasley, with Mr Longbottom.” Professor Snape coldly snapped. “If you want to choose partners, be early next time.”

Ron shrugged and moved over to Hermione’s usual partner, Hermione to Blaise’s. The bat continued to the front of the classroom, standing before the teacher’s desk. The recipe for that day appeared on the chalkboard, and Professor Snape had a quick discussion about the important parts of the potion.

Harry squinted at the board, then nodded. He turned to Blaise, who he saw was writing – in incredibly neat handwriting, which he still thought impossible with a quill – something down. Interested, Harry leaned closer.

Blaise started off by listing ingredients, which Harry realised was a good idea. The bat only wrote the steps down, expecting students to gather all the ingredients themselves. Several times Ron or Harry had to quickly dash to the potion stores when they’d accidentally skipped over an item or two.

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that,” he murmured. Blaise laughed but didn’t say anything. With the list at hand, they could quickly gather everything, without referring to the board as Ron and Harry did.

Once returning to their shared table, Blaise set up their workplace. Harry began to slice the slugs when Blaise made a noise.

“Ah – that’s too thick. Try it thinner.” Harry fixed it, but his fingers began to slip. “It might be easier to hold it like this.” The Italian boy demonstrated, posing his hands next to his. It took some time to get used to, but Harry’s slices grew steadier and confident.

Blaise had to correct several of his cutting techniques and other preparations. Harry felt incredibly guilty, thanking him at every turn. Blaise didn’t seem annoyed, which was a huge bonus.

“It’s reasonable; you were muggle raised,” Blaise said. Then suddenly – “Wait, stop!”

Harry’s hand paused over the bubbling cauldron. “Sorry?”

“Why are you putting halved daisy roots in? It says diced daisy leaves!”

Harry stared at him. “It does?” He checked the board again and squinted. The board swam in and out of focus. Very slowly, Harry picked out the correct words.

“Oh man,” he blushed. “It does. My bad.”

“How old are those glasses?” Blaise questioned. “That was a very huge mistake and you were staring at the board for a while. Daisy roots would make the potion null anyway.”

“I got them when I was six?” Harry answered, and quickly dropped the roots back to the table when he realised what Blaise said.

His tablemate gave him a look. “You’re supposed to update them; you know?”

“No, I didn’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “I guess I’ll have to ask Aunt Petunia to take me.” That was a rather long way off – Harry certainly wasn’t returning for Christmas holidays, nobody would make him do that.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “I could ask Professor Snape to take us this weekend. You’re an active danger to the classroom the way you are. In fact, sit. I don’t want you near the cauldron.”

Amused, Harry sat back, shuffling his seat backwards so Blaise could access the cauldron. He’d barely been sitting for three minutes when Professor Snape swooped by.

“Mr Potter, _what_ are you doing?” he snarled.

“Harry’s prescription is rather out of date, and almost put daisy roots in. I’d rather not have him interacting with the potion,” Blaise dropped a handful of the slug Harry had sliced “especially at this step.”

Professor Snape looked at Harry. He shrugged. “I thought it required Clapone bugs.”

Blaise paused for a moment to snicker to himself as the bat almost recoiled from his answer.

“Very well,” the bat stiffly said. “I see your point. I will ask Minerva to take Mr Potter to Diagon Ally this weekend.” With that, he was off again.

“Wow, thanks Blaise,” Harry said, watching their teacher criticise Hermione and Nott’s potion. “I was going to wait until the summer holidays.”

Harry didn’t notice the glance Blaise gave him for that comment.

Later, after Professor Snape declared the class over and everyone was walking to their next class, Harry asked another question. He was curious as to why Blaise seemed to know the reactions to each ingredient because some potions had over twenty and it was a little hard to keep track of stuff like that.

“It takes some practice, but knowing how each item reacts to each other is really important for potion-making. It’s also a good memory exercise. You remember what has been added and basically plus or minus as more ingredients go in. It good for realising that you might have a rule wrong – if I saw daisy roots on the board I know immediately that whoever wrote it was wrong and they meant daisy leaves.”

“Huh,” Ron cut in. “That’s an interesting way of putting it. I thought it was just cooking.”

Blaise didn’t seem ruffled by Ron’s interruption. “It’s a lot deeper.”

“I suppose so.” he mused. “Cutting an ingredient a very particular way isn’t critical in cooking.”

“And I don’t like cooking,” Ron added. “Too boring. I never thought potions _wouldn’t_ be…”

Blaise nodded thoughtfully, and suddenly stopped at a staircase. “I’ve got Charms now, so I’ll see you in Herbology.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks for looking after me in Potions. I can’t wait to talk to Elena!” He began to wave but realised his mistake. Blaise didn’t seem to mind the movement and returned one of his own, just a cocky flick of his fingers.

“Wow. He wasn’t so bad.” Ron commented.

“Thanks for before. I saw the textbooks.” Harry said as they continued on their way.

“Yeah well, Hermione’s going to kill me now. She saw it too.” Ron sighed heavily.

Hermione chose that moment to appear and sock Ron in the upper arm.

“That’s all you’re getting. Nott was a surprisingly good partner.” She groused but broke out into a grin.

“Blaise was delightful! I might be getting a new pair of glasses because of him.”

Ron agreed. “Say, Hermione, do you still have that a Thousand and One Herbs and whatnot book from last year? Zabini said something really interesting…”

Hermione gaped at Ron. “Did I just hear _Ronald Weasley_ ask for a _book_?” Ron rolled his eyes but the dark-skinned girl wasn’t finished yet. “A _book?_ Ronald _Weasley?_ And it’s about _Potions?_ Am I hearing this right? Harry, did I mishear? Or have I begun to have auditory hallucinations? _Ron? Book?!”_

Ron stuck out his tongue at Hermione, who continued on her tirade, all the while Harry was almost collapsing from laughter.


	8. Chapter 8

The entrance to the dungeons didn’t begin with a staircase, as the towers did. Instead, it began with an incline in the floor, going down, down, down, until it turns and suddenly splits into five different directions.

The further from the first corridor, the less explored. Classes were always done in the first corridor to the right, and only Slytherins knew and dared to explore deeper. There were other entrances to the dungeons, and magic could also transport someone from the depths of the castle right to the Astronomy Tower.

Harry didn’t dare to explore the dungeons. Every Gryffindor was warned at the start of First-Year and it was incredibly dark, damp and moody. He waited at the entrance, right where the first corridor turned and opened to a little area before the five other hallways.

Blaise met him there and grinned. “Harry, thank you for coming.”

“I’m happy to help,” he said as he joined the Italian boy. Blaise turned and lead him down the fourth hallway from the right. “What you’ve told me is a little concerning.”

“I know,” Blaise sighed. “I’ve had her for some time, and I’m not quite ready to let her go. Not if it’s avoidable. We’re here.”

Harry startled as they stopped in the middle of the corridor. There wasn’t a painting, figurine, obvious torch bracket, or anything that might symbolise that the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was here.

“Oh, I see. I guess the Fat Lady is a little obvious.” He joked, which make Blaise smirk.

“I’ll go inside, so just wait. The Baron will keep you company.” The Italian boy leaned towards the wall and whispered so softly Harry had no chance of hearing the password. The wall simply melted away, looking like another archway. Harry placed his hands over his eyes and waited, hearing Blaise chuckle again.

“Mr Potter,” a new voice added, along with the clinking of chains. “You can lower your hands now.” He dropped his hands and came face to face to the Bloody Baron.

His face had withered away until the bones almost popped out, and his eyes were so sunken all Harry could see was the dark glint of his eyes. His coat was ragged, and the fur edges were clumped with blood. His hands were encased with chains, and although the Baron had legs with the same restraints, they were not visible today.

“Sir,” Harry said, forcing himself to look the Baron in the eyes. “Thank you for allowing me to come here.”

The Baron gestured slightly, waving the comment away. “Mr Zabini asked politely. I am told you can speak to snakes?”

“Yes. I’m here to talk to Blaise’s snake. It seems she’s not feeling good.”

The Baron turned to stare at the entrance to the Slytherin Common Rooms. The blood on his skull shimmered in the low torchlight.

“I would not inform this to anyone else, but Mr Zabini is fond of you and you are rather polite.” The Baron began. “I was alive when Mr Slytherin himself walked these walls. I could always remember him talking to the castle. Parseltongue is a part of this place, forever and always.”

Harry stared at the ghost, unable to reply. The Bloody Baron never talked about his background, and to hear that he was around since the founding days? It was a gold mine.

But history was more of Hermione’s love. He followed the Baron’s gaze, realising he had never wavered from the Slytherin entrance. Harry wavered, wondering if the ghost was giving Harry a chance, or something else.

Focusing on the snakes that embellished the Baron’s coat pins, Harry said, “Open.”

The wall melted away to reveal Blaise right behind the wall. His hand was up, but he dropped it quickly, staring at Harry.

“Do you know the password?” he demanded. The Italian boy did not look friendly.

Harry rapidly shook his head. “It opens to Parseltongue.”

Blaise dropped his anger for wonder. “Oh… my…”

“Uh,” Harry looked at the Baron again.

“Anyone who can open the door is welcome. There just happens to be two passwords.” The Baron idly remarked and began to float away.

“Thank you _very_ much, sir,” Harry hurriedly added before the ghost could vanish. Turning to Blaise, he raised his hands in the air. “I swear I won’t come in unless invited.”

He sighed. “Well, I can’t do anything about that. I’ll tell Professor Snape and we’ll wait on what he says. You may as well come in, anyway. Elena refuses to be removed from her tank. She keeps wriggling when I pick her up.”

Harry warily stepped forward. “Are you sure?”

“I was initially coming to inform you that it was pointless and you should return to your own Common Room, so I’m glad it works out.” Harry nodded and decided he couldn’t do anything about it, and joined Blaise inside.

The entrance started with another corridor, but this time it was taller and brighter. Besides the columns, the walls glowed green and wavered. It wasn’t until a blurry shape suddenly slammed against the wall Harry realised what he was seeing was the Lake.

“Wow,” he turned to Blaise, eyes wide. “This is _so_ much cooler than the Gryffindor Common Room.” His friend looked pretty smug at the compliment.

The hallway ended, and another archway led into a brighter, yet shorter room. The floor was wooden planks, a rich tone that was much nicer than Gryffindor’s carpet. Their couches were more streamlined but were a solid green, and they too had a roaring fireplace. Above of which held a painting.

Harry was picking loose threads again, and he quietly stepped closer to Blaise. Plenty of students here hated him on sight, and they didn’t know he was welcome. His presence wasn’t immediately highlighted, because most students were quietly conversing by themselves. The Gryffindor Common Room was only this quiet at night.

Blaise confidently strode across the floor, and Harry raced to follow him. It wasn’t like he could blend in through – the edges of his robes were lined with red and gold thread, and he was wearing a Gryffindor tie. Also, as the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry was infamous.

The little chatter that existed dropped away. Harry focused on Blaise’s back, studiously ignoring everything that was going on around him.

“Zabini,” growled a vaguely familiar voice. “What is a _Gryffindor_ doing here?”

Harry quickly looked up to see Alicia Morgan, a seventh-year prefect, accidentally meeting her eyes and the death glare. Blaise didn’t react, calmly explaining the Baron’s actions.

“If he knows the password, he is welcome.” Blaise firmly reiterated.

“Then we’ll change it.” She snapped.

“I’d like to see you change a _Parseltongue_ password.” The Italian boy challenged, crossing his arms. Harry looked up again to see the painting above the fireplace was also looking at him. He tried to smile, but he knew it was more of a grimace.

“You speak the language?” the painting said. Of course, the Common Room would have a painting with a person who spoke the language of snakes.

“Yes, sir. I’m only here to check on Blaise’s snake.” Harry answered. If the painting was above the fireplace, then he was pretty important. Blaise suddenly hooked his arm around Harry’s and brought them closer. “Oh, thanks? I’m only coming in for this. I won’t enter the Common Room again until Blaise invites me back.”

“Nonsense. Talkers are always welcome in my Common Room.”

“Wait, he’s Slytherin?!” he whispered to Blaise, who nodded with a smirk. “Wow. We don’t have a painting of Gryffindor.”

“It was removed in the 11th century for repairs but got lost somewhere in the castle. You’ll have to find it if you wish to talk to him.” The painting continued, joining them in English. “If you’re stuck, just ask the portrait in the Headmaster’s Room.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Harry nodded, already thinking of all the exploring he would have to do. Slytherin looked pleased but refused to answer anymore, staring far off into the distance in his portrait.

Slytherin had a fur coat like the Baron’s, but it was in far better shape and pinned together on his left side with a line of buttons. It was a very dark black, and the only green was a sparkling brooch on the other side. He had very long hair, and also had the gaunt look.

“Well,” Blaise sighed, but he sounded happy. “That was amazing. Come, Elena is this way.”

They walked away from the fireplace, towards a bend in the wall. However, Malfoy stepped into the way, hands on his hips.

“I’m not letting _Potter_ into my room!” he demanded, voice carrying across the Room. Blaise looked rather unimpressed.

“I’m not interested in your stuff, Malfoy,” Harry tiredly replied.

“All it is are letters to your _mummy_ anyway.” Blaise tacked on.

Malfoy raised his head. “There is _nothing_ wrong with enjoying chats with your parents.”

“It’s a little embarrassing if you’re only referred to as ‘Little Dragon.’” Blaise even used finger quotes for that sentence, even though Harry was positive it was a Muggle thing. This time Malfoy blushed and Blaise swept by with a smirk.

The bend ended with a circular staircase. “It’s going to be a hike. The younger you are the higher you have to climb.”

“It’s the opposite in the Gryffindor tower,” Harry remarked.

“Really? What’s it like?”

“Well, there’s a small spiral staircase, but it ends pretty quick. There’s a floating platform where you can see out over the Common Room – boys turn left, girls go right. I’ve never seen the girl’s dorms; boys can’t go there… you know what? Why don’t you come to Gryffindor’s Common Room?”

Blaise gave him a questioning look. “I can enter?”

“Sure. I’ve seen plenty of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws.” He shrugged. “No Slytherins, but you can be the first in decades. Just stick with Hermione, Ron and I and you’ll be fine.”

“Ah, to be part of the Golden Trio,” Blaise remarked, grinning back down on Harry. He was evidently more used to the stairs because Harry was a little puffed already and was slowing down. Despite the shortness of his breath, he spluttered.

“They do _not_ call us that!” he denied. Blaise’s laughter echoed down the stairwell.

Occasionally they passed a little landing with a door, a brass number nailed to it. Blaise finally stopped at the one with a two and entered. The hallways were only big enough for two people to stand side by side, and there were only three doors.

“Three or four to a room.” Blaise explained. “Malfoy, Theodore, and I in that one, Malfoy’s grunts in this one, Parkinson, Greengrass, Bulstrode and Davis in there.” They didn’t spend any more time and quickly entered the door Blaise had indicated. It was slightly smaller than Harry’s room because there was only three, but each student had a little more personal space than his own. Blaise’s was mostly taken up by the snake tank, although he did save space by using the area underneath as storage space.

Harry could hear hissing as soon as he stepped in.

“Hello?” he called, walking up to it. The snake was mainly a greeny brown colour, with faded black spots, and as Blaise said, was rather lumpy. “How is the habitat?”

“Talker!” the snake turned her head immediately, seeking him out. She raised her head until it almost was above the glass walls. “You must help me! My little boy is lovely, but he isn’t a Talker. He brings wonderful gifts but I fear it’s not enough! The habitat is too small.”

Harry snorted.

Blaise looked up from where he was standing beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“She calls you ‘my little boy,’” he grinned, elbowing the Italian boy in the side. “How cute is that!”

Blaise gave a little shove to his shoulder. “Come on, stop joking. What did she say?”

“I’m not pulling a prank. Uh – yeah – she says the tank is too small. You bring wonderful gifts but its insufficient.” Realising how lacking that answer is, he turned back to the snake. “When you say that the gifts won’t be enough, what else do you need?”

“I need loads more food!” Elena replied. “There is not enough space here! I want to return to the big area.”

“She must be talking about home.” Blaise decided. “But I don’t understand why she needs more food. She’s been putting on more weight and I’m worried.”

Harry asked Elena again. Then, he was laughing until he almost had to sit down. “She’s pregnant! The lumps are her eggs!”

“What!” Blaise gasped as if Elena was his child and she was out of wedlock. “But it’s _November!_ She hasn’t interacted with another snake since…” he stared down at the tank, stupefied.

“Maybe we’ll need to go find a book on this.” He suggested. “Or Hermione, if you can’t be bothered. Hey! You can come to the Gryffindor Tower now!”

Blaise had to think about it, but he nodded. “I don’t know enough, to be honest. And writing back to mother would take too long. She might give birth any day now!” he looked a little panicked, so Harry chose to mirror the way they came out – he led Blaise, pulling him along. Blaise stepped forward to stand beside Harry when they reached the bottom of the staircase, and they shared a smile.

The trek from the dungeons to the Tower was tedious, but every step close to the Fat Lady made the electricity in his body increase. He was almost bouncing when he stepped up to the familiar pink painted figure.

“I invite my friend Blaise Zabini to the Gryffindor Tower.” He said. It was the first time that Harry had invited someone from a different house, but he had seen older students do it before.

The Fat Lady beamed. “It’s been a while since a Slytherin has come! Welcome, welcome, come in!” she swung outwards, revealing the round hole that every student had to crouch to get through.

“It’s not as awe-inspiring as the Slytherin entrance, I’ll admit,” he told Blaise as he ducked. “But I like it anyway.”

“The theatrics get old quickly anyway,” his friend reassured him. They stepped out and straightened. “Its… warm.”

It was very warm! The carpet was a dark brown, and the couches were incredibly voluminous, coloured a warm gold with red embroidery. The room was far taller than Slytherin’s, and Harry could see those heading towards their dorms.

Hermione and Ron were in the corner, reading. Ron was frowning; Hermione was intensely staring. She always read as if one blink meant she missed critical information.

“Hey guys!” he called, dragging over two of the smaller chairs. “Turns out the Elena is pregnant!”

Hermione perked up and set her book aside. “That a relief!” Ron quickly shoved his book on top of Hermione’s, and Harry saw that it was the potions book he asked that morning.

“How was the Slytherin Common Rooms?” Ron cheekily grinned. “Even Fred and George haven’t been inside.”

“I would hope not,” Blaise dryly remarked. “Each student is told we’ll get very harsh punishments if we let someone in, even accidentally. Harry, however, has a standing invitation because he can speak the other password.”

“Pending Professor Snape’s decision.” He protested, then turned back to Hermione and Ron. “I just have to say open and it works!”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “Do I count?”

Blaise frowned. “Are _you_ a Parselmouth?”

“No, he’s learning it,” Hermione assured. “And doing quite well. He and Harry sometimes talk in Parseltongue.” Blaise turned to Harry, curious.

“You can’t hear normal snakes,” he said, and Blaise pouted. “And I’m told it’s very hard to learn.” _Tom is shocked at just how much Ron can speak already, even though it’s only been a few days._ He thought but didn’t add.

“Speaking of Parseltongue,” Ron began, “Is there a written form? I think it would be easier for Hermione to remember if there are symbols with the sounds.”

“There’s Parselscript, but barely know how to write it. Every time I try it comes out as English.” The only thing he had been able to write was ‘snake.’ It was hard to try and focus on snakes and also what he wanted to write. Quickly, he demonstrated on a piece of paper. “Snake.”

Hermione snatched it and analysed it, Ron peering over the table. “It looks like squiggles.”

“It looks like English,” he corrected, grinning at Hermione’s look. It had been a long-running frustration of hers. “Anyway, we were wondering if you know anything about pregnant snakes. Our information is lacking.”

Blaise nodded. “She hasn’t seen another snake since the beginning of the school year, so I don’t know how far she is. I don’t even know how long snake pregnancies last…”

“I did a presentation on snakes in fifth grade, so I know all about it! The library doesn’t have it anyway, they only focus on magical creatures. First of all, Elena _is_ towards the end of her pregnancy. Snakes also abandon their eggs as soon as they are done, so she’s probably not comfortable with how large the terrarium is, right?” At Harry’s nod, she continued. “You also need to be aware that…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **yes** this chapter is short but remember that this story 'chapters' are actually scenes. In a few hours, I'll upload the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've uploaded this to SpaceBattle forums and I'm a little shocked at the response there. Not sure if its a positive or negative shock... I've got a lot of views and responses, but... It's just...? We'll see.  
> I also have an announcement regarding Tom:  
>  **I am aware that Tom is a little too friendly and forthcoming.** I have a reason why he's so nice towards Harry, and no, it's not for a sneaky Slytherin plot. This isn't crack, but it's not dark or serious. In a future chapter, you'll read why Tom is being so nice and you'll probably be like 'hm that's a little weak for how OoC he is' but the thing is: idgaf. I write what I want to write.

From that day onwards, Blaise became a part of Harry’s life. They worked together in Potions (or rather, Blaise worked while Harry had to wait for his trip to Diagon Ally), and Blaise often came into the Gryffindor Room, although he never entered without Hermione, Ron or Harry by his side.

Hermione and Ron also began to make friends with Blaise. The Italian boy was the only one of their group who was willing to entertain Hermione when she was discussing assignments and classwork. Ron had expressed interest in learning Italian, and Blaise looked so pleased that Harry decided to join in as well.

Soon it felt as if Harry could turn around and find Blaise talking to Hermione or Ron just as often as he wasn’t. He couldn’t be around all the time, because of the different Houses, but he tried and Harry was happy to have another friend.

A few days after his visit to the Slytherin Common Room, Professor Snape attacked him in the Great Hall during dinner. He approached Harry, striding down between the tables, robes billowed out behind him.

“Mr Potter,” he barked, and then continued through gritted teeth. “ _What_ is this I hear about you visiting the Slytherin Common Room?”

“The Bloody Baron said I could because I can speak Parseltongue. But I won’t go in until Blaise invites me, sir. I know that it’s not right to be able to waltz in.” he quickly answered. He did want to return again and to do that he couldn’t antagonise the bat.

Professor Snape regarded Harry with narrowed eyes. Finally, he relented. “I will allow it _as long as_ Mr Zabini invites you. And he must give explicit permission _every time._ Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked less than pleased but continued on. “I have talked to Minerva about your glasses. However, she won’t be able to take you until the Hogsmeade weekend before the holidays. I won’t allow you to brew in my class but in return, you will have to write an essay on the potion. I will inform you later exactly what I need.” And with that, he was off, back up to the staff table.

“Damn Harry!” the twins exploded. “You got into the Slytherin Common Room?!”

“ _And don’t invite other non-Slytherins in!”_ Professor Snape added.

“Ron, don’t you dare think this isn’t applied to you as well.” Hermione hissed to the red-head. Ron looked rather put out by it but complied.

They met Blaise in class after that, and he looked rather pleased about having the responsibility delegated to him. “Other Slytherins are interested in Harry’s ability. Pet snakes are not uncommon after all.”

“I guessed,” Harry said. “I said your name so Professor Snape could make it official.”

Blaise stared for a second over the plant they were currently pruning. “Did you really?”

“Yeah,” Harry said and didn’t elaborate. It was... like compensation for allowing Harry into the Slytherin Common Room – Blaise got the glory of having all communications going to him. He could rack in several favours that way. If Blaise didn’t pick up on this, Harry would eat his own foot.

“Thanks.” The Italian boy replied, and busied himself with his snippers.


	10. Chapter 10

A few nights before the Hogsmeade weekend, Harry was talking to Tom.

…Blaise explained that in Italy, boys would kiss both cheeks of ladies as greetings, but that doesn’t happen here in Britain. At that point, Hermione asked us what we were talking about and she got the culture talk. Blaise wasn’t explaining it very well, and Hermione was getting a little too touchy about it, so I had to speak up. I used a little bit of your explanation, sorry.

That’s fine. I’m happy to hear that you’re learning wizard culture, and not only British.

Yes! Blaise was really pleased when I asked about Italian culture. He also said he would love to bring me to a place that serves ‘real’ Italian dishes.

That’s good! A Zabini would know the best places. I had one or two friends who were from abroad, and after I tried their food I couldn’t view British food the same way.

Really? 

Yes. British dishes use little spice, and maybe a little too much potatoes without basic seasoning. Spice takes a little getting used to, but it’s well worth it. And don’t let anyone tell you that salt is spice, Harry. It’s not.

I’ll definitely look into it! 

Enough about that. Is there anything coming up soon?

The first match of Quidditch is happening soon! I’ll have to verse Slytherin. The weekend after that is when I go get my glasses.

Tom began to draw banners and snakes, sketching out GO SLYTHERIN in his fanciest handwriting. Harry giggled and drew the Gryffindor’s side on the opposite page. When he drew himself as a stick figure on a broomstick, Tom drew the stands on his page and a stick figure of his own. Harry moved over to Tom’s page and wrote ‘Gryffindor is the best!’ as the stick figure’s speech bubble. In retaliation, Harry’s was saying ‘I exist to cause problems.’ From there it downgraded into a drawing war until the snakes looked like bearded lizards and the lions looked like chimeras.

Harry finally dropped his quill and laughed, rolling over so he could write while lying on his stomach. By the time he got comfy, the page was blank again. It sucked that Tom couldn’t hold the words for very long, but the memory would stay.

Alright, alright, that was fun, but let’s talk about you going to Diagon Alley. What types of glasses do you want?

Well, the ones I’m wearing a really tiny. He drew a pair of them for Tom, and a quick sketch of his face to show how tiny they were. I’m hoping to get some really wide ones. Some people heard that I’m getting new glasses and apparently have opinions about them? Then Hermione said I have an oval face, so I should get oversized glasses, but that doesn’t make any sense! Do you know anything about glasses?

My fashion sense is fifty years out of date.

You’re fifty years old?

No, I’m 17. But it’s been over fifty years since I’ve been trapped in this book.

Fifty years…

Harry wondered how lonely that would be. And Tom said that he only knew what was written on pages, so he couldn’t even travel!

That sucks! I can’t really say it any other way, but that sucks! I wish I could take you around. Show you Hogwarts and even Diagon Ally!

Tom didn’t write back at first. He paused, longer than he would when he sighed. Finally, Tom wrote.

It does. It really does. I was shoved into here and then not talked to until some whiney girl picked me up and started talking about her crush. You were a gift from magic, Harry. You are a child but I enjoy talking to you.

You were talking to someone else?

Yes, I believe her name was Ginny? Anyway, she wasn’t interested in anything but her crush. It was so tedious, and I have no way to stop reading her writing.

I know Ginny! She’s Ron’s little sister. I found you at their house and Mrs Weasley said she didn’t recognise it so I could take it. I suppose you don’t want to go back? He grinned down at the pages, even though he felt a little guilty. It _was_ someone’s book after all, and Harry had just taken it.

Tom’s next word was underlined strongly and several times. **No!** I’m fine with you.

Say, Harry… I know how to transfer myself from the book onto you, but it’s not…. Basically I will possess you.

What does that do?

Normally possessing a human being means that the original soul will drop into a deep sleep as the other soul takes control. It doesn’t allow the two souls to interact, which is why it’s not a fun time. But, I think I could do something that would mean that we… share. We won’t be able to hide a lot of things, but we should be able to switch control without the other person falling asleep.

That doesn’t sound bad. You seem smart enough to know what to do.

If I do it, you won’t hear from me for a while. I’ll have to build up some mental defences so we won’t meld into one being or send each other into slumber. When do you want to try it?

How about now? I want to show you Diagon Alley.

I… thank you, Harry. Really. It was a little cruel to pray on your ignorance but I’m happy you’re not wizard raised. Any other child would’ve been warned against writing in this book.

Are you ready for bed? It will knock you out.

Yeah. Knock me out!

He barely had enough time to worry if this _was_ a stupid idea before the book began to shine and Harry fell into a void of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b l e s s i don't have to input the frickin font tags anymore


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the quidditch match! except, i didn't want to write out something that has already been written, so I had my own take on it. I had a fuck ton of fun writing it though! Is it weird to laugh at your own writing?  
> It might be a little outlandish, but this entire _fic_ is self-indulgent. I do what I want.

“Are you ok Harry? You’ve been rather tired the past few days.” Blaise asked as soon as he joined their group.

“ _And_ he’s been going to bed really early and waking up late,” Hermione added, trading looks with Blaise.

“ _And_ it’s the Quidditch game today!” Ron was right; Harry was in his Quidditch robes and had his Nimbus tucked under his arm, ready. Students walked all around them, a road of black robes connecting the castle with the pitch.

“I’ll be fine,” he said and tugged on Blaise’s scarf. “I can’t believe _you’re_ betraying me!” Ron made an offended noise, right on time.

“I’ve _got_ to support my House, Harry.” He pointed out. “When you’re playing Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw I’ll dress in red and gold, but for today it’s silver and green. This palette compliments my looks better anyway.”

“As if those Zabini genes would allow you to look any less than stunning.” Hermione dryly replied, receiving a smirk from the Italian boy.

The three of them continued, but Harry couldn’t be bothered to join in, preferring to smile widely as his friends talked. He _was_ exhausted, and it had been since Tom began to possess him. He’d also not heard a peep from the older boy, and the book was just a book now. He’d flipped through it to find that Tom had managed to shift the pages, bringing back pages of their conversations. The last page being the Slytherin-Gryffindor drawing.

Harry stared up at the stands, then back down to his friends. Blaise finally caved and walked with Hermione and Ron over to the Gryffindor stands, and the three of them waved as they left. He turned, walking into the change and prep rooms. Wood was already talking fast, encouragement and tactics falling from his mouth. Nobody was really listening to him anyway – the twins were talking to Johnson and Spinnet, the reserve Chaser, and even Lee Jordan was there, chatting with the other Chasers.

Harry’s entrance wasn’t noticed, so he quickly drifted over to the gathering. Wood took one look at Harry, and more probably his pale face, and decided that something wasn’t up to par.

“Harry! Are you _sure_ you’re alright to fly?” he said, dropping his tactics paper and striding over to lift Harry’s chin to see his face better. Harry wriggled his head backwards to loosen Wood’s grip.

“I’m _fine_ , it’ll be alright.” He insisted.

“In times like these, you know what we need to do?” Lee Jordan dramatically bellowed, feet wide and hands on his hips. “Honour the brave!” The twins jumped up from their seats to join Jordan before the pictures of young Professor McGonagall and Charlie Weasley. The Professor’s photo buried her hands in her face while Charlie grinned roguishly. The three pranksters began to bow and bellow “ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL!” as they continuously threw their hands in the air.

Harry couldn’t help but grin, the intended effect of the performance. However, they were all so focused on the theatrics that they didn’t realise that they had new company.

“Mr and Mr Weasley! Mr Jordan!” barked Professor McGonagall. The three of them froze, hands still in the air. “ _What in Merlin’s name are you doing!”_ Professor McGonagall’s voice was like iron but the slight pinkish tone on her face revealed that she was just as embarrassed as her photo. She whipped out her wand and sent the twins and Jordan squealing.

As she took Jordan from the room (keeping one firm hand on his shoulder), she looked back at the team. “Good luck.” She said, squeezed Jordan’s shoulder so hard he yelped and dragged the MC away as she muttered to him.

“Right,” Wood said, “The match will be happening any second now! Remember to follow the plan!”

“We had a plan?” Harry frowned, but grinned at Wood’s panicked face, the rest of the team chortling. Nevertheless, Wood delved into an explanation, and they all patiently listened to their captain.

Then, Madam Hooch’s whistle blew. Harry hooked his legs around his broom and slowly drifted towards the Official Exit, the one that was only used when a match was started. Wood was the first line, then the twins, then the three Chasers. Harry was by himself, drifting a little further back.

“WELCOME TO THE FIRST QUIDDITCH MATCH OF THE SEASON! THIS SLYTHERIN VS GRYFFINDOR FACE OFF IS _SIZZLING_ WITH ENERGY! MAY I INTRODUCE THE SLY-THER-IN TEEEEEAM!!!”

Across the field, a group of green and silver shadows flew out, circling around the pitch amid cheers from the Slytherin and Hufflepuff stands to come back to Madam Hooch, standing in the middle of the pitch. They had not flown in a shape, just a gathering of Slytherins. Harry already knew Wood’s chest was puffed up in superiority and pride.

“AND NOW, THE ONE AND ONLY GRYFFINDORS!”

Wood shot forward, his team close behind. Harry accidentally put on too much speed and had to pedal back a bit. His broomstick was the fastest by far.

The Ravenclaw and – predictability – Gryffindor stands were jumping up and down, a sea of red and gold. They flew close to the Gryffindor stands and saw Hermione and Ron easily because Blaise stood out like a sore thumb. He waved, and Blaise mimicked fainting.

They joined the Slytherin team but landed on the other side of Madam Hooch. Lee Jordan had listed all the players as they flew, and now the stadium was waiting for Madam Hooch.

“Let’s have a good match, you hear me?” she commanded, kicking open the ball box. Squatting, she pressed a button and a yellow smear vanished (“MADAM HOOCH RELEASES THE SNITCH!”), then unbuckled the straps holding the bludgers. The air explodes with how fast they leave the box. Harry watches them climb through the air, spiralling higher and higher, waiting for the whistle to blow again.

“Captains.” Madam Hooch gestures to the area before her, as the rest of the players rose in the air in formation. Wood and Flint strode forward and shook hands. When they were in the air, in their respective positions, everyone waited in tense silence.

Before him was Malfoy, who was reclining backwards on his Nimbus 2001. He remembered when the Gryffindor team tried to go for training, only to run into the Slytherin team, all holding new broomsticks.

Blaise wasn’t there at the time, but when he heard of it, he had some choice words for the blonde.

Madam Hooch’s whistle blew and Harry kicked back, shooting upwards. On his way up, he had to dodge a bludger, which was coming directly down. When he was at the usual altitude seekers cruise at, he leaned backwards again, looping around to travel towards the Slytherin end.

Malfoy was there, riding his uplift. Harry ignored him, glad the words he was spewing were snatched by the wind. He shot forward because there was a bludger coming towards them, and if Malfoy was too busy taunting to see it, well, that was his own mistake.

As the match progressed, Harry first began to wonder if the Slytherin beaters’ plan was to hit as many bludgers towards him. It was a rather poor tactic because he could see them coming from far away.

It wasn’t until he ventured down to the normal playing altitude he realised that it wasn’t. He checking to see if the snitch hadn’t hidden itself in the Gryffindor colours, when another bludger went by. Fred was there, chasing afterwards. He smacked it towards a nearby Chaser, but it wasn’t even halfway there when it began to curve.

Back to Harry.

He dove, and checked over his shoulder. Again, it curved and followed after him. Harry spun around a Hufflepuff stand, gliding so close to the structure that the fabric encasing it fluttered.

The bludger didn’t have the finesse to curve; it chose to break through the stands, which was a first for Harry. He feared that it wouldn’t dodge the spectators.

George was waiting in the middle of the field, beckoning Harry, so he booked it to the red-haired boy. George readied his bat with both arms. Harry flew under his arm and could feel George’s robes brush past his face. Seconds later, there was a thunderous _crack!_ as the bat met bludger. George had to put in a lot of effort to draw that sort of noise, and Jordan’s commentary reflected that.

“WHAT IS GOING ON WITH THAT BLUDGER? I HAVEN’T SEEN GEORGE HIT ONE THAT HARD SINCE THE TWIN’S FIRST MATCH! AND YET… YES, IT IS! IT’S CURVING BACK TO HIT POTTER, _EVEN THOUGH_ FLINT WAS CLOSER! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

Professor McGonagall didn’t even reprimand Jordan for his language.

It was time to bring out the big guns. He floated higher until the bludger was almost there, and dived. At first, Harry pretended he was just diving, but he didn’t flatten out.

100 metres, 70 metres, 50 metres, 30 metres…

At about 10 metres above the solid ground, he flattened his body against his broom. He and Wood had been working on this move for a long time, but Wood said Harry wasn’t ready yet, even though he had done it in his first match. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Jordan was shouting, the stands were shouting, but all Harry hear besides that was the wind in his ears.

He pulled up his broom and shot along the grassy floor. At almost the same time, an almighty thump happened behind him. Flecks of dirt splattered against his face and glasses, as he’d curved around to watch the show that was a bludger hitting the ground full force.

There was a crater, but Harry didn’t dare drift closer.

“That’s impressive,” he noted to himself.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOOOOD! POTTER PULLS OF ONE OF _THE_ MOST IMPRESSIVE WRONSKI FEINTS, BETTER THAN LAST YEAR’S! I'M LOOSING MY FUCKING MIND OVER THIS!”

“ _JORDAN!”_ screamed Professor McGonagall, but she didn’t take points off, which what should have followed.

The bludger lifted out of the crater, but it was almost woozy. It drifted momentarily, and then it was off again.

Towards Harry.

“For fucks sake,” he muttered to himself, because nobody was around to hear him. He shot upwards again, although he wasn’t considering another Feint. It was a ball; of course it wouldn’t be affected.

“WOOD CALLS FOR TIME OUT!” Madam Hooch’s whistle punctured Jordan’s words. “TIME OUT! TIME OUT!”

Harry joined the rest of his team, relieved to see that the bludger curved away to hover high over the stadium. When he landed, the twins were cheering.

“That was MAGNIFICANT!” one of them yelled while the other one lifted Harry up and spun him around. Wood was fighting a grin too, but when Harry looked at him he straightened out his face and crossed his arms.

“I hadn’t approved of that move yet,” he said, ignoring the twins chatter. “That was going to be part of my plan against Diggory!”

“The bludger wasn’t letting up.” He defended.

“And please, let yourself grin – you look like you’re having a stroke.” Johnson dryly added, making the team laugh.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Wood continued. Harry looked up to the sky – one of the bludgers might’ve been slower.

“Sure, I can try and use it against Malfoy.”

“I guess you could…” Wood muttered, then nudged Harry’s shoulder. “Good luck. Madam Hooch, we’re done!”

Back in the air, Harry looked for Malfoy. He shouldn’t have bothered, because Malfoy found him. He was talking, but the wind stole it away again. The bludger was attacking again, and while this was a little slower, it still was relentless.

Harry had to line up the bludger and Malfoy perfectly, and also make sure that Malfoy wouldn’t catch on. Several times he had them lined up but the angle would’ve allowed Malfoy to see it, or maybe he was too far behind.

Sometimes he had to fly away from Malfoy, because otherwise he would’ve gotten suspicious as to why Harry was sticking so close.

“You think you can catch the snitch when you’re too busy? You can’t handle doing two things at once.” Malfoy continued. Judging by his voice, he was almost right behind him, and to his glee, the bludger was coming for him, right in front. It was a little higher than he wanted, but Harry realised he could swing underneath his broom to make sure his body covered the bludger from Malfoy’s sight until the last possible second.

This time, he felt jittery. It was nothing like the Wronski Feint, something he’d been practising for ages. This was a plan he’d thought up on the spot, and there was no precedent to know that it was achievable. Harry’s insides wobbled.

There was no time to think. Malfoy kept taunting, the bludger swung closer, and the crowd was growing excited. Jordan didn’t comment, which was perfect, and then the bludger was in the distance Harry had decided was good.

He fell to the side, loosening his hand and leg grip, enough to slip but not to fall off.

The bludger whistled over his broom, mere centimetres from his toes.

“What-” Malfoy choked. Harry could watch him in this position, and he was relieved to see the Malfoy _did_ dodge the bludger. However, he wasn’t as prepared for it as Harry was; the ball clipped the back of his broomstick and tore through the spindles.

Harry righted himself and flew down to catch Malfoy’s flailing hand. “Don’t tailgate me!” he hissed down to Malfoy, but didn’t let go until Malfoy was a few metres away from the ground. He had to let him go then because the bludger was closing in again.

Harry raced across the field, heart in his throat. He could see the golden glint of the snitch, he had seen it hovering over the Slytherin goals a few minutes ago but ignored it because Malfoy was too close. The crowd was roaring again, and he had to weave through the air to dodge the bludger yet again.

 _Go go go go go_ Harry chanted in his head, and reached forward. The ball noticed that he was after it, and darted away. Now that he was so close though, it was pointless; Harry could follow. And by god he did. The Snitch was all over the place, Harry was forced to spin around more than ninety-degree angles to chance after, and the whole time the bludger was still trying to knock him off.

The snitch tried to change flight again, but Harry was ready for it. He snatched the air and returned with the golden ball in his gloves. Immediately he thrust it in the air, cruising beside the stands and the spectators screamed.

“Harry, that was amazing!”

Harry choked, coughing to regain his breath. It was Tom! Tom was awake and he was here just in time to see Harry catch the snitch! It was a little disconcerting to hear someone else’s thoughts in his head, but Tom was _awake_ and he was _here_ –

Too late, he realised that the bludger hadn’t stopped. He had declining, gliding closer to the ground, so when the ball hit him, Harry allowed himself to fall off his broom and down to the ground.

His right arm was on fire, and it _hurt_. Oh my god, it _hurt._ A broken bone, he realised, recognising the pain from the last time Dudley slammed the door on his hand.

“It’s not done yet!”

The bludger was coming down again, and Harry had no nifty broom to roll with. So he forced himself to roll over, blinking away tears at the awful sensitivity in his arm. The bludger landed in the sand and rose again. Which was good, because Harry wouldn’t have known what to do if it shot at him from the ground.

As the bludger came screaming down again, a voice called across the field.

“ _Finite incantatem!”_

A white spark flew across the field and collided with the bludger. It exploded over his head and Harry flinched.

Harry rolled over again and struggled to lift his upper body up. Hermione was already by his side, Ron not far behind. Blaise dropped to the other side and unfortunately jostled his broken arm.

Harry yelped and collapsed back into the sand.

“Oh no,” Blaise muttered. Through his earth flecked glasses, he could see his pale face.

“You’re wrong Hermione, white doesn’t look good on Blaise.” He informed his friends, and tried to rise again. This time Blaise steadied him, helping until he sat up properly. “My arm’s broken.”

“I can tell,” Blaise muttered. “This was the most terrifying Quidditch match ever. I need to stop talking to the players.”

“Harry, do you think you can stand?” Hermione asked. “I would conjure a stretcher but I don’t know how.”

“The incantation is ‘orbis saluti.’” Tom helpfully added.

“I can. Mr Zabini, please move out of the way,” said Professor McGonagall, and waved her wand. In the space that Blaise had been occupied laid a snow-white sheet of fabric. Harry edged over to the stretcher, shuffling his butt until he was on top of it. Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and it lifted.

“Harry, are you alright?” Harry looked up to see the shining grin of Lockhart. The movement drew attention to the arm he cradled in his lap. “Oh no, broken arm? Let me fix that.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, no, it’s alright, I’m sure Madam Pomfrey can fix me!”

“This’ll be over in a jiffy.” Lockhart winked, and pointed his wand at his arm.

The pain vanished, and he still had his arm.

“He didn’t just vanish the pain,” Tom murmured, voice tight with horror. “He vanished your bones.” Harry raised his arm, but from the elbow down it flopped about uselessly.

“Lockhart!” Professor McGonagall gasped, seeing his arm. “What did you just do!”

“He vanished Harry’s bones!” Ron yelled and spun around to face the daft man. “ _You- fucking- idiot_!”

Lockhart looked less than perfect, as the realisation of what he did dawned on him. “I’ll, ah, yes. Go.”

“Mr Weasley,” huffed Professor McGonagall, and rolled her eyes at Ron’s innocent look. It wasn’t very convincing. “I won’t take points off this once, but _don’t_ say that ever again.”

“Oh,” Harry said, as the thought struck him. “I accidentally let go of the snitch. Did we still win?”

Hermione huffed but nodded. “Yes, we did. Well done.”

“That Wronski Feint was _mind-blowing!”_ Ron added, staring at Harry with wide eyes. “The ground EXPLODED!”

Harry grinned at Ron’s excitement. “I thought it was pretty cool too.” He admitted.

“That thing with Malfoy was pretty incredible.” Blaise murmured in his ear. “But you might be in trouble for that.”

Tom spoke again. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of that. Just relax, alright?”

Harry couldn’t though; he had to clutch at his arm. Because, despite that the pain had vanished, he was still overworked from the effort it took to fly, perform the Feint, nail Malfoy with the bludger and catch the snitch. Exhaustion hit him like another bludger.

A white figure dashed out the castle. “Right, Miss Granger and Mr Weasley and Zabini. Madam Pomfrey is here and I highly doubt she would like hawkers. Come to the Hospital Wing in a few hours; Harry should be alright by then.”

His friends exchanged glances, not liking the command. But Blaise stepped back, the other two joining him right as the Mediwitch descended on Harry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i'm so sorry for not updating last week. there was this one uni assessment that fuckin hated me on sight and was a bitch and a half to do. I had to block so many websites so i wouldn't procrastinate, including ao3 & spacebattles. i was even procrastinating on other things I wanted to do, like wanikani. i have over 400 reviews to do someone save me T^T

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand and Harry’s bed slowly folded itself, propping him up.

“Terribly sorry, my dear, but I need to give you a few potions.” She said as she busied herself with a floating tray. “It’s only been a few hours since the match, so just drink these and you can go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Harry croaked and sat up.

“Because of that _buffoon_ ,” Madam Pomfrey shot a look at Harry just in case he missed her meaning. “I have to regrow your bones. You’ll drink this Skele-Gro and stay overnight. Your arm will have some painful pins and needles, but it should be healthy in the morning.”

Harry nodded along, taking the offered potion. Like every other medical potion, it tasted awful.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a few more potions and left Harry’s bed. He leaned backwards but knew he wouldn’t fall asleep straight away.

“Tom?” He called.

“I’m here.” The ghost reassured. “I’m sorry I took so long. I had to… be very careful with the metal shields. It’s best that you learn to shield your mind.”

“It’s alright. I’m glad you saw the match. Not so glad about the bludger though. How much did you see?”

“I was… aware? Aware when you did that trick against the bludger. A Wronski Feint?”

“Yes. I’ve been practising it a bit with Wood. The captain.”

“I definitely saw the bludger trick with Malfoy and I must commend you on that.” Harry chuckled at the thought. “If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll set them straight.”

“Yeah,” he laid back in the bed, but his body wasn’t tired just yet. Luckily, Hermione, Ron and Blaise stepped around the curtains and brightened when they saw he was awake.

“Oh thank gods,” Hermione rushed forward and almost went for a hug. She instead awkwardly laid her hand on his shoulder. “You’re alright.”

“How’s the arm?” Ron asked.

“I’ll have to grow it back overnight.”

Blaise winced. “Not fun.” When everyone looked at him, he elaborated. “I broke my leg so bad it had to be vanished and grown back. It was so _painful_.” Harry worriedly looked down at his right arm.

“How was the match? Apart from the bludger and I.”

“It really wasn’t as remarkable as you were, Harry,” Hermione said. Ron began to protest, so she added, “Your performance was everything; nobody really focused on the other players.”

Ron paused and nodded.

“I don’t have to fake now, so I agree,” Blaise smirked. “It was pretty cool. And seeing as we’re friends, I can say that you’re an amazing flyer.”

“Can you say that for the other players?”

The three of them turned around to see the Weasley twins approaching. Then, behind them, the Gryffindor Quidditch team. All of them were out of their game clothes, into casual robes. Wood was grinning widely.

“Harryharryharry.” He chanted as he stepped up to the bed. Hermione, Ron and Blaise shuffled around to take his left side, while the Quidditch team took the right and the foot. “That. Was. _Insane._ ”

“Bloody amazing,” the left twin said.

“Just magnificent.” The right twin said.

“Outstanding,” Wood finished. “Using the bludger?” he shook his head in disbelief.

Harry hated to say this, but some part of him was still guilty. “Is… Malfoy alright?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “He’s got a bed over there. Frightened, but I think he should be alright. He didn’t get hit by the bludger and you _heroically_ carried him down, so he’s perfectly fine.” He cast a glance over his shoulder to where Malfoy was. “He would’ve been caught by Madam Hooch or another teacher, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I bet he’s out for blood though,” Hermione worried.

“If his father actually paid to his whining.” Ron pointed out, which made Blaise muffle a cackling into his shoulder.

“I’ll handle Malfoy,” Tom whispered. Harry could barely dip his head in acknowledgement; he was still in public.

“I heard we won?” he questioned.

Wood beamed. “Yes! After you took out Malfoy, he was too shaken by it, so they hoisted the reserve seeker out. He pales in comparison to you, and the Slytherin team knew it. They tried to hound us with their Chasers but we put up a good defence.”

“Merlin, you’re tooting your own horn a little too much.” Spinnet dryly remarked, causing the team to laugh uproariously and Wood blush faintly.

The curtain to Harry’s right was flung open, Madam Pomfrey standing behind it with glowering eyes. “Too! Much! Noise! You’re disturbing other patients! Out!”

The Gryffindor team didn’t put up a fight and said their goodbyes. Wood was still muttering as the Weasley twins dragged him out of the Wing. “I was referencing our _Chasers_! I couldn’t have done much by myself, you know…”

Madam Pomfrey still had her hands on her hips as she glared at Hermione, Ron and Blaise. Harry sighed and turned to his friends. “Looks like you guys have to go too.”

Ron shrugged, resigned. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Get well soon,” Hermione added, “It was a really nasty break.”

“Before _Lockhart_ ,” Blaise reminded.

“Don’t be rude!”

“You can’t deny it was _his_ fault.”

“Yes but..!”

Harry watched them leave. Madam Pomfrey set his bed a little further back and closed the curtains behind her. By the time the curtains settled, Harry felt like he was in his own world, just him in a circle of white fabric… and Tom.

“Tom?” he called, very softly.

“I’m still here. Your thoughts are hearable to me so you don’t have to speak.”

Harry tried to think _at_ Tom but all it felt like he was doing was screwing up his face for no reason. “I’ll stick to whispering.”

“Very well.” For the first time, he could feel something – amusement. It wasn’t his own feeling, he could tell that, but it felt like he could read Tom’s tone. Having Tom possess him wasn’t like reading words on a page. He could _hear_ him. “Has anything happened while I was out?”

“I was exhausted all the time. I’d wake up late, go to bed early and still fall asleep in class. I had to do a few essays but I don’t think they’re in a standard you’d like…”

“I was using a lot of your energy. I think that’s excusable, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Yes, but I don’t think my teachers would find that acceptable.”

“No, I suspect they would freak out.”

Harry sniggered and sunk lower in his bed. Listening to Tom speak was like listening to a voice that he couldn’t pinpoint a source to. It wasn’t coming from inside him – Tom’s voice sounded like it came from the world around Harry.

“Next week is the Diagon Alley trip.” He remarked.

“Of course!” There was a tinge of excitement in his voice. “New glasses!”

“Do _you_ need them?”

“Your eyes are my eyes, Harry. I hear what you hear, I taste what you eat.”

Harry slipped off his current glasses in reply and Tom made a disgusted sound.

“How can you _survive?_ The glasses barely do anything to improve your sight!”

“I just thought that was normal.”

“Ah.” Tom paused in his tirade. “…Surely you’ve updated them?”

“My eyes aren’t _that_ bad, you know.” He joked, making Tom scoff. Harry relished the ability to _hear_ Tom, to not have to guess his mood from written words. They spoke for so long the late afternoon faded into early evening, and Harry finally slipped away, asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry had been hovering just below consciousness for a while, but nothing roused him from sleep until a sharp twinge of pain made him wince and eyes flutter open.

It was awfully dark, still night time. It made sense though; normally he would only wake up once Madam Pomfrey was bustling about, checking on patients and administering potions.

Harry knew that he couldn’t fall back asleep though; payment for going to bed early. Unlike previous visits to the hospital, Harry had someone to talk to –

“Quiet, I can hear something.” Tom commanded, and hastily tacked on “Sorry Harry.”

He nodded sharply in understanding and very carefully didn’t move, straining to listen. Tom was right – there was a slight pat-pat-pat of feet, too small and light to be human, accompanied by indistinct muttering.

Harry… could recognise that voice. He slipped off his bed, creeping towards the curtains slowly.

“Wand!” Tom reminded sharply, and he went back to fetch it. Approaching again, wand out this time, Harry slowly drew the floating curtains and saw… Dobby, the house-elf.

“Dobby!” he exclaimed, barely remembering to quieten his voice. Dobby whipped around, his oversized eyes almost popping out of his head as they made eye contact.

“ _Mister Potter!”_ the house-elf exclaimed and had no reserves about his noise level. Harry winced at the sound of the tiny creature’s voice reverberating around the Hospital Wing. Gripping the house elf’s shoulder, Harry dragged Dobby back to his bed, curtains thrown closed behind them. He deposited the creature on his bed and stepped back, arms crossed.

“What are you doing here?” he questioned. “You almost woke everyone up!”

“ _Harry Potter didn’t listen!_ ” Dobby cried. “Dobby telled sir that great danger comes! He telled!”

“Of course I didn’t listen; Hogwarts is my home!” he huffed. “I’d do anything to come here.”

“Even fly to Hogwarts in a car?” the elf meekly remarked, in the exact same manner he revealed to Harry he was blocking all mail.

“ _You_ were the one who blocked the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters!” the day’s events played in Harry’s mind. “Don’t tell me you also bewitched the bludger…”

Dobby looked down at the floor. “Dobby thoughts that Mister Harry Potter would go home if in great peril…”

Harry sighed, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. He flexed his right arm. “Dobby, I’m already healed.” It still hurt, yes. The background of pins and needles kicked up to conspicuous pain when he moved his arm, but Harry had worse and ignored it.

“Oh,” the house-elf muttered, blinking at Harry’s arm in disbelief. “Of course Mister Harry Potter will heal so fast…”

“Huh?” he questioned, but Dobby was already moving on.

“The danger has be do something terrible… oh yes, terrible!” Dobby stepped forward on his bed, and Harry took a wary step back. While he was glad Dobby wasn’t banging his head on wardrobes and lamps, he didn’t want him to cling to his shirt. “ _It’s vanished!_ ”

“Ah,” Tom sighed. “I think the crazy elf is talking about me.”

“Oh Dobby, don’t worry. I’ve gotten rid of the book.” Harry quickly assured the elf. The creature stopped and stared at Harry in shock. “It’s got a dark green cover, right? I’ve dealt with it.”

Dobby wailed. “Oh of _course_ the Great Harry Potter woulds be able to defeat such a dark scary magic!” It was almost as bad as That Night from the summer holidays; Harry panicked as he tried to calm the elf down. “Did you defeats the _other_ darkness?”

“I… uh…”

“That would be Ginny. I do leave a rather Dark touch to everything I speak to.” Tom assured.

“Yeah? Do you mean Ginny? She’ll be alright.” He said, which set off another round of cries from Dobby. “ _Dobby_ please shut up! There are other sleeping patients here!”

Sniffling, Dobby dried the corner of his eyes with the sleeve of his ratty dress. He opened his mouth, but a new voice cut in.

“Harry?”

He whipped his head around to the curtains, and back to glare at Dobby, but he was already gone. Wand ready, _again_ , he opened the curtains.

It was Creevey. Harry relaxed his stance, but his shoulders didn’t loosen. From one fan to another.

“Harry!” Creevey repeated, excited. “I’m so happy I came here! Ginny helped me avoid the teachers and ghosts and oh my _god_ you’re awake! Today was just _so cool_ I _had_ to come down to see you.”

Harry resisted sighing. Creevey was just an excitable young boy. Totally irrelevant that he was only a year younger than Harry. “What did you come here for? You shouldn’t be out after curfew.”

“I _had_ to give you this!” Creevey grinned, leaning across the space to offer sheets of… photos? “It’s a little bad lighting now, so I’ll just tell you: they’re photos! Of today’s match!”

“Oh that could be interesting,” Tom remarked. “I just hope they’re good.”

“A lot of them are you far off, but once or twice you came close! _And_ I got the dive bomb!” Harry raised the photos to the weak light of the moon, but it was impossible to see anything but shifting colours.

He shook his head. “Thank you Creevey, but I think these could’ve waited for yesterday, alright? You should go back to the Common Room now. And again, thank you for the photos.”

He almost had to physically shove Creevey towards the door, all the while assuring him that he loved the photos and that he’d been meaning to take photos sometime but never bothered and he was _very_ happy that Creevey took them…

The large double doors to the Hospital Wing clicked shut and Harry scurried back to his bed. Madam Pomfrey didn’t take kindly to noise and wondering patients.

The photos were on his bed, so he pulled out his wand. With a quiet “ _Lumos!”_ the tip of the wood glowed.

There were about ten photos. The first one was, not surprisingly, when the team swooped over the Gryffindor stands, Harry in focus as he waved. To his surprise, Creevey also managed to capture Blaise’s fainting spell, having shot the photo along the stands. The next photo was his three friends; Hermione was waving, Ron was waving _enthusiastically_ , and Blaise standing, smiling. Behind them, more Gryffindors cheered and jumped up and down. Huh. Maybe Creevey’s photos weren’t so bad.

The next few were some far away shots of the team. He was pleased to see that Harry wasn’t the only focus; one had Fred and George fly by, attacking a bludger with their batons. That was pretty cool.

The sixth one was a view of the wide pitch – he could see a small dot swan dive, something else not far behind. The two dots almost joined when the ground erupted. It was the Wronski Feint, and the dot fleeing from the cater was evidently him. Whoa.

There were a few more, but they were a little hard to see anything happen. He could give those to Wood, maybe. He was definitely keeping the one of his friends and the twins, though.

“ _Nox_.” The light died, and Harry realised that the sky beyond the windows wasn’t so dark. It was nearing twilight then, and Madam Pomfrey was bound to be up any time soon.

He shoved his wand away and set the photos on the bedside table, along with his glasses. He settled back into his bed, ready for the mediwitch to enter the Wing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry gets his glasses   
> also, tom shows the difference between soul leaching and possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tower doesn't have a photo collage and that's a fucking crime.

“Wood, you should see these photos!” Fred crowed.

“They’re _brilliant!_ ” George added, waving one as he stared at the one in Fred’s hand.

“Colin Creevey took them.” Harry reminded. It was breakfast time, a few days since Creevey had delivered the photographs to him. He’d forgotten them, to be honest, because they had been shoved into his bag as he hurried out the Wing to join his friends at lunch.

This morning, Harry was cleaning out his bag and found the photos. He’d brought them down to breakfast, intending to show them to the twins there, and _not_ the entirety of Gryffindor. He shrunk back as Wood eyed the photos critically, nudging his porridge with his spoon, embarrassed.

“Blimey, look at this one, Hermione!” Ron flipped the photo he was holding to face Hermione and Harry – it was the photo of his friends.

“Aww, that’s a good one!” Hermione grinned, reaching across the table to take it. “I do wish that Harry was in it too.”

“We could ask Creevey later.” Harry motioned to the younger boy, who was sitting at the other side of the table, far away. “He doesn’t seem to mind taking them.”

“This one,” George waved the one with Harry’s Wronski Feint “needs to be pinned somewhere.”

“The change rooms,” Fred suggested, then shook his head, his twin joining in.

“Not good enough,” George agreed.

“How about the common room?”

“NO!” Harry cried. “Please, _no!_ I don’t want that!”

“Oh, come off it, Harry!” Wood grinned. “This is just _excellent!_ It absolutely deserves to be on the notice board.”

Harry gave up on his porridge and sunk his hands into his face.

The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team gravitated towards the photos, admiring them all. Only the photo in Hermione’s hands was saved from their curiosity.

“Weasley!” Wood called, but it wasn’t to the Weasleys already present. It was to the eldest – the prefect. “You’ve _got_ to put this on the notice board!”

The prefect watched the photo for a moment. “It’ll fade in a few years.”

The table muttered among themselves before someone cried out “Preservation charms!” which was met with fierce nods.

Percy hummed again. “You can barely tell what’s going on.”

“A caption would help.” Johnson retaliated.

“Harry Potter pulling a _perfect_ Wronski Feint on a rogue bludger, November the 30th, 1992.” Fred declared.

“Taken by Colin Creevey!” the photographer shouted. He had the biggest, silliest grin on his face – no one could say no to that. Harry couldn’t argue to take it down now. He wouldn’t want to crush Creevey’s euphoria.

Percy sighed in defeat. “It’s up to Professor McGonagall, I guess.”

“I find that quite fine,” interjected the Professor. Harry twisted to see the witch standing behind him, observing the congestion of Gryffindors with a smile. “Perhaps more photos can join, later.”

The Gryffindor table broke out into chattering at that statement. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, ready for business. “Come now, Diagon Ally awaits.”

Harry popped out of his seat, grinning at Professor McGonagall. “I can’t wait! See you later, Hermione, Ron. Show the photo to Blaise, please?” Hermione and Ron waved him off, saying their goodbyes.

“How will we be getting there?” He hoped it wasn’t the Floo.

Professor McGonagall began to lead him away from the table. “We’ll walk down to Hogsmeade, and apparate from there.”

They made swift time; seniors who wanted to catch the earliest carriage down were gathered near Professor Flitwick, who wouldn’t open the gates until 9am. Professor McGonagall and Harry, on the other hand, bypassed the line with a nod towards the small man and boarded a horseless carriage without fuss.

When they reached the gates, Professor McGonagall led them off. Just before they began the trek to Hogsmeade, the Professor raised a hand to stroke the air.

“Professor?” he called. She looked like she was petting horses, but Harry couldn’t see anything.

“Thestrals, Mr Potter. Be glad you can’t see them.”

“They’re visible only to those who have seen death.” Tom elaborated. Harry focused on the air before the carriage was, right where the Professor had petted. He couldn’t see anything. Then he dropped his eyes to the grass below, and he could see – hoof prints, in the snow.

“That’s fascinating.” Harry gasped, walking quickly to catch up to Professor McGonagall. “How can magic _know_ that?”

Her lips quirked, but the smile was colourful as cardboard and vanished quickly. “The answer is a little tricky. We know that you have to be mature enough to _understand_ the concept of death when witnessing the act to see thestrals, and therefore must leave some unseen mark on your soul… The answer is steeped in philological and magical theory, and it still eludes us today.”

“Huh.” Harry thought back to the hoof prints in the snow, wondering what kind of animal could remain invisible like that. What would an animal of death look like? Would it _look_ normal? Would it look scary? Ominous? _Cute?_

Professor McGonagall stopped in the middle of the road, holding out her arm. “Here is good enough. Mr Potter, are you ready for apparation?”

Harry wound his arm around hers and gripped tight. Two seconds later, he was nursing an incredible headache and rolling stomach. His grip on Professor McGonagall’s arm was the only thing holding up. It was a good thing – the cobblestones weren’t looking too clean.

Finally, Harry straightened and followed the Professor out of the apparation point. A staff member lounged at the help desk, a thick book hanging weightlessly in the air as they read.

“Mx Kelly, glad to see you busy,” Professor McGonagall dryly remarked as they approached. Such tone would send all of Gryffindor scrambling to appear busy – yet, this ex-student only bequeathed the terrifying Head of Gryffindor a glance and flipped their page in reply. Raising his hands, he formed quick symbols, which had Professor McGonagall chuckling quietly.

“Have a wonderful day, then.” They swept out of the building – well, Professor McGonagall did, with her flowing, reddish robes did. Harry followed quickly, and his robes did not swish around his ankles like hers.

“Professor? What did they do… with their hands?” He tried to form a symbol, but the staff member had been moving their hands too quickly.

“Sign language. Mx Kelly is unfortunately mute, so to communicate they use hand symbols. If you wish to learn more, ask Miss Granger.”

He made a note to do so.

They stepped out of the building then, onto Diagon Ally. Harry grinned as he watched a dragon kite soar buy, growling and flapping its wings, leaning back as a kid burst by him to chase after it. Bright posters lined Florish and Bott’s windows across the street, and someone was standing in Madam Milkin’s windows, waving their wand as mannequins rapidly changed clothes.

They turned right, unfortunately away from Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, following the road up to the Leaky Cauldron. As they passed a store for magical instruments, Harry couldn’t help but pause to consider the crazy items the Wizarding World considered as musical tools. His favourite was definitely the trumpet with fifteen valves and three bells. The main body of it looked more like a knot than perfectly melded metal.

Harry knew he was taking too long. Professor McGonagall was already a few paces ahead, but Harry could use the Saturday crowd as an excuse to move slowly. He wanted to see Diagon Alley out of the summer holidays, and Tom deserved to get the experience.

“How is it?” Harry asked, pausing beside Quality Quidditch Supplies to watch the printed players buzz around on their team posters. He could see Appleby Arrows crowding around the edge that was next to Holyhead Harpies, the two teams trying to throw punches over the pages. In comparison, the Chudley Cannon poster was stuffed into the corner, cut off from the rest of the posters by ads.

“Mr Potter!” Professor McGonagall called. “We’re not here for Quidditch. This way.”

They stepped into a store that was almost parallel to Quidditch Supplies but was far smaller and wedged between the Owl Emporium and another larger store. There was a large metal wire shape above the windows, taking the shape of glasses. There weren’t any signs advertising the shop’s name, but it was unmistakable to know what the goods were. The display area was covered with diagrams of eyes and the optometrist poster, the one with gradually shrinking letters, while the floor space was a forest of glasses.

The interior was white with golden accents. White couches lined the back of the window displays, low lying golden tables set close by. The staff desk was similar in appearance, as with the staff uniform. One member even had golden frame glasses, blending in with the store.

“Professor McGonagall!” said the glassed man, standing from his white occasional chair. He held out his hand over the white wood, revealing golden nail polish. “It’s so nice to see you! You are right on time.”

Tom chuckled. “He’s dedicated, I’ll tell you.”

The two adults converse for a little bit, catching up. The other staff member doesn’t look away from his typewriter, tapping determinedly at the keys and referring to multitudes of paper. Everything, of course, was white, with the occasional edging of gold.

Harry supposed he liked it. The colour called for some severe cleaning, but the result was crisp exterior and sparkling windows. None of the other buildings along Diagon Alley was this spotless.

“Mr Potter? If you will?” the older man called, waving him over, nails glinting in the lights. They vacate the waiting room and enter a smaller square room. The optometrist has Harry call out the letters on a page stuck to the far side of the wall as he waved his wand nearby. Very quickly, they left the room again, but didn’t return to the waiting area. Instead, they went further in, until the man showed Harry a room that was twice as large as the first room and _full_ , from ceiling to floor, with glasses.

He drifted closer, watching the reflections follow him around. There was a mind-blowing amount of glasses, but what really knocked it out of the park was the infinite amount of _styles._

“Now, let us chose!” the optometrist called, clapping his hands together in anticipation. “Do you wish to keep the same style?” Harry quickly shook his head. They were so small it didn’t even cover all his vision. It must’ve been the correct answer because the man beamed and began pulling off frames after frames from the wall.

He was like Ollivander, in a way. Harry barely had any time to look at himself in the mirror before another pair was pushed into his hands with a “no, no, no, _this_ will be better!” Harry could tell that his old pair paled in comparison to this range, but after a while, he couldn’t tell the difference. Did it matter that the frames were long rectangles or misshapen circles? Apparently, yes.

They whittled it down to three. One was an ‘oversized cat-eye frame,’ which had a thick black frame on the top, and the bottom half was a gold wireframe. Another was a thick pure black frame that felt really smooth to touch. The final had an off-white rectangular shape with curved edges while the arms were black.

They all looked the same to Harry. They were all big enough to cover most of his vision, and the man assured Harry they were nigh indestructible thanks to charms.

“Which one?” he said to himself, clutching the white and black pair with his fingers while staring at the other two. The second one might be considered a little _too_ chunky… but Harry didn’t really care.

He wasn’t even aware of his hand moving until it almost crushed the white and black pair into the mirror. It corrected itself and moved over to deposit and switch them with the half wireframed ones. When he tilted his head up to look in the mirror, his eyes were _glowing_.

Harry’s mouth moved without warning. “I think these ones are perfect.”

“ _Marvellous_ ,” the man beamed and waved his wand. The other pairs of glasses flew back to their original places and the pair on his face floated off. “I’ll put the glass in straight away!”

Harry was left breathless in the frame room. “ _Tom?”_

“Yes, Harry?” the ghost innocently replied.

“That was you.” He accused, leaning towards the closest mirror. His eyes had lost that spark, returning to the natural dark green he had always known. Then – they glowed again, right as he smirked to himself in the mirror and said: “You _are_ being possessed.”

Tom poked his cheek. “I must say, you’re a rather cute twelve-year-old.” He laughed and stepped back, looking down Harry’s body. Despite the utter alien feel of his body moving without his knowledge, Harry didn’t really feel that scared. “I don’t have full control, of course. You can wrestle control back with some firm conviction, although you might need to practice at first.”

Harry tried to step forward and found his body following. He left the room, returning to the waiting room. Professor McGonagall was reading one of the newspapers left on the lounges, barely looking up when Harry joined her on the same couch.

Tom moved Harry’s hands forward, pushing the Quidditch Weekly aside for a denser _Magical Future_ , bringing it back to his lap. Harry looked forlornly at the black and white photograph of the Falmouth Falcons but turned his sights onto the paper in his hands. Dense was not only a description of the paper but also a good one to label how Harry felt as he tried to muddle through the language.

“I don’t suppose you mind if I read it, then?” Tom said, although thankfully not with Harry’s mouth. He shrugged and continued to run his eyes over the words. The sentences began to run into one big blur as he continued.

“Mr Potter.”

Harry dropped the newspaper to see the optometrist walkout from the hallway, holding his frames in his hands. He popped up and almost sprinted over to the man, he was that excited to finally wear his new glasses.

The old black wireframes were taken off and Harry slid on his new ones. The world around him sharpened, and he realised how little his old glasses helped him.

The man didn’t only have gold on his glasses and nails; his bow tie was a pinstripe of white and gold. Professor McGonagall’s robes weren’t a reddish colour as he thought; they were black with heavily embroidered patterns with red thread. He could now see the multitude of scratches and scuffs on his old pair of glasses.

Tom took over for a second, handing back the black pair to the optometrist. “If you don't mind, could you throw these out?”

The man laughed and waved his wand, and the glasses vanished. “Glad to see you’re happy with them.”

It was Harry who turned around to stare at the small chandelier-like lights. “I can see _so much_.”

Walking out into Diagon Alley was a trip and a half. It wasn’t only Tom who was seeing the Alley for the first time.

They arrived back at Hogwarts around midday, just in time for Harry to join his friends for a late lunch. As he settled into his seat, he started heavily at Ron’s face.

“Oh my god you have so many freckles!” he exclaimed, causing Hermione to laugh. He turned to her. “Hermione! Your hair _isn’t_ frizzy!”

“No,” she chuckled behind a hand. “Just lots of curls.”

“Blimey Harry,” Ron remarked. “I can see your eyes clearer!”

Hermione nodded. “It’s true. The gold, black and green goes incredibly well together.”

“I had some help,” he replied, sending a silent thank you to Tom. He probably would’ve gone with the off white and black frames because they had been in his hand.

Harry was immediately distracted by the twins appearing, almost choking on his mouthful when he saw how _similar_ Ron’s and the twin’s faces were. It was almost disturbing, but after a few minutes, Harry could find the differences.

He was in the middle of inspecting his knife’s engravings when Blaise appeared.

“Fantastic!” he cried. “You can rejoin me in Potions!” Harry grinned up at his friend, happy to get out of the essays, when he blinked, then smirked.

“Gold, black and green? I didn’t know you’re a Zabini, Harry.”

“Huh?”

Blaise gestured to Harry’s new glasses. “Those are my family’s colours.”

“I didn’t know families had colours.” He wondered, although, now that he knew, it did make a little sense. “What’s mine?”

“Gold and dark blue,” Ron replied. “The Weasley family’s is brown and dark green, but the Prewett colours are really dark red and… uh…”

“White.” Blaise finished.

“Damn, I should’ve gotten the gold and blue colour then,” he ran the edge of his finger against the thicker upper frame. Hermione shook her head in answer.

“No, it would’ve looked horrible against your green eyes.”

“It looks good as is,” Blaise said firmly.

“That’s because these are _your_ colours.” Harry pointed out, getting a smirk in reply. The four of them laughed and moved onto other topics.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry this is a short scene. Idk when I'll upload the next scene though.  
> thank you for all the love! this story has hit ONE HUNDRED comments!!! it counts my replies so half of them are from me but i'm still gonna celebrate this I am absolutely blown away at the response to this story. I only started posting this a few months ago but it's already my most popular story yet!  
> I'd also like to thank those who comment on nearly every chapter! I do recognise your usernames and squee every time I see them.

Harry stood as the staircase underneath him swung around, watching as the other ledge approached. His hand rested on the rails, waiting…

As soon as it was within leaping distance, Harry strode forward, eyes scanning his surroundings. He had a mission: test his glasses, and try to find the lost painting of Godric Gryffindor.

“What do you mean, lost painting?” Tom asked.

“The painting of Slytherin told me. He asked if I could find it.”

“I’m surprised he answered you.” The ghost said, honestly. “He didn’t really speak to me.”

“Blaise was practically shouting from the top of his lungs that I was a Parseltongue, and so he tried to test me,” Harry told Tom of his conversation with Slytherin. Tom was still in his book at that time, and Harry had forgotten it in the revelation of Elena’s pregnancy. It wasn’t until he was inspecting the paintings with his new glasses that he remembered. “I’m going to find it, even if it takes me until I graduate.”

Tom audibly sighed. “I’ve explored this castle far more than you, and believe me, I don’t recall it at _all_.”

“I’m gonna do it!” Harry clenched his fist with determination, then paused. “…I don’t suppose you have any good places to start with?” He only knew where he had been before, and if _he_ had been there, then other people would’ve.

“I have an idea, but it might take a long time to finish searching the room. Go to floor seven.”

Harry ascended, following Tom’s words until they were standing in front of a tapestry of dancing trolls. For a moment, Harry revelled in the fact he could _see_ each individual stitch.

“Now, walk back and forth thinking ‘ _I want to find something lost.’”_

Harry’s face scrunched, but he did it nevertheless. At the third go, Tom told him to stop. The previously blank section of the wall now held a door, taller than Harry by three times. He pulled on the iron knocker, and it swung open.

Inside, it was a war-torn battlefield. Mounds and mounds of… _junk_ , it had to be junk, lined the walls and stretched back further than Harry could see. There were wardrobes, clothes, broomsticks, books, cages, desks, chairs, bookcases, lamps, bottles, boxes, blankets, vases, shoes, plates, tables, overgrown plants, unlit candles, pictures, paintings, and loads more. Harry stumbled closer, spotting smaller things, like buttons, pens and pins littering every flat surface.

“What the!”

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement, Harry. If it’s lost, then it’s here.” Tom sighed. “It’s going to take a long time to search. I never bothered.”

It was a perfect place to start. The walls extended up and out so far Harry couldn’t see anything but more towers of junk.

A pitiful whine escaped his lips.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yall i have been so EXCITED to publish this chapter. hold your honkers this one has BIG PLOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The first day of winter holidays dawned with the castle decked in blue and bronze.

No, really.

Harry, Hermione and Ron stepped out from behind the Fat Lady onto a dark blue carpet, the edges lined with a bronze colour. It was a stark difference from the old, faded carpet that had been turned different colours by hundreds of students of every year. Today, when Ron cast a colour changing spell, the carpet stayed blue.

It didn’t stop there, although it wasn’t obvious at first. The walls throughout the Gryffindor Tower were decorated with paintings, each inch decorated with some half-forgotten historical figure. However, as they ventured out of the colourful tower, it was apparent that someone had hung Ravenclaw themed tapestries and flags everywhere.

“What’s going on?” Hermione questioned, huffing when Ron and Harry stared at her.

“I was about to ask _you_ ,” Ron answered. If their curly friend didn’t know it, then who would?

The Great Hall was majorly empty; yesterday, students returned home for the holidays. It made sense that the teachers had vanished all the tables bar one because the only other Gryffindors were the rest of the Weasleys, two Hufflepuffs, five Ravenclaws and six Slytherins. With the teachers, there was still over half of the table free.

Harry grinned as he slid into his seat beside Blaise. “We can finally sit together!”

Blaise answered in kind. “For a whole two weeks.” Hermione and Ron sat on the other side, getting ready for breakfast.

“You might _not_ want to sit with us when Ron eats, though.” Hermione gravely said, making Harry laugh. Only Dudley could eat more disgustingly than the red-haired boy.

“I’ll swap with you, Blaise. I’m used to being on the other side of Ron.”

He got up and Blaise shuffled over to sit in Harry’s place. The change of seats left Harry with a new seatmate: Nott.

“Good morning,” he greeted and got a short nod in reply. Nott returned to his plate and he turned back to Blaise. “Are you ok with me sitting here?” Blaise waved his hand and scooped a portion of his breakfast up.

“I don’t mind. We’ve grown apart.”

Harry frowned. “Because of us?”

“I won’t deny, yes. But we never really were that close. Just an incompatibility of hobbies and interests.” Blaise pointed to the blue-tinted glass windows. “Any idea why everything is Ravenclaw?”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “I have no clue.” Blaise sighed at her sombre mood and changed the subject.

“What are you intending to do during the holidays?” he said, causing Hermione to launch into an explanation of her study plan. Harry watched Ron and Hermione argue over homework, the two getting riled up by subtly teasing from Blaise.

He turned away from the group and spoke, very, very quietly, into his shoulder. “Tom? Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“Oh,” said the ghost. “Oh, Harry, thank you for thinking of me. Nothing comes to mind now, but if I think of something, I’ll tell you.” He smiled into his clothes and returned back to his group.

They finished breakfast and left the Hall. They paused in the entrance area. Last year Ron and Harry simply returned to the Tower after breakfast, or, if they really felt bored, to the library, because that was when they were trying to find out who Flamel was.

Now, not only was Hermione here but Blaise as well.

“I have no idea what to do!” Harry confessed.

“We could study?” Hermione offered, but even Blaise shook his head.

“We _just_ finished the semester.” He remarked. “Our brains need a little rest.”

She huffed but conceded.

They stood around for a while, trying to think of something. Ron was down to play chess, but nobody else was. Hermione wanted to read, but nobody else was. Blaise was thinking of exploring the castle, but nobody else was. Harry’s mind was out on the Quidditch field, but nobody had their own broom, and half of the group didn’t like flying.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea.” He said suddenly. It was Tom; he could feel his body moving without his consent, his head tilting as his eyes drifted upwards. “I’ve been looking for a painting, but I need help.” Tom released his grip and Harry dropped his eyes back to his friends.

“Really?”

“What’s so interesting about a painting?”

“It’s the _long-lost_ painting of Godric Gryffindor!” Harry grinned at Ron and then turned to Blaise. “Slytherin asked me to find him.”

Hermione began to bounce on her toes. “ _Harry!_ Why didn’t you tell us before?”

He shrugged in reply, not wanting to say that he wanted to find it by himself. But Tom was right; it would take years if he explored the Room of Requirement by himself. He would need more eyes.

“So where are you looking?”

“We’ll have to go to the seventh floor.” He replied, raising his head once more. The four of them scuttled off, a sense of energy coursing through their actions. Ron walked so quickly he was three steps ahead of anybody; Hermione was intensely drilling Harry for information. Blaise was quiet but carried an air of anticipation for the entire trip.

Underneath the dancing trolls, his friends lined up in a neat row. He stood to the right of them to begin the opening sequence, and he was struck by how familiar the scene was.

“I feel like I’m in the middle of a Quidditch match.” He joked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You won’t get a second fainting act from me.”

“Well, come on,” Hermione demanded, crossing her arms. Harry closed his eyes and paced in front of them, focusing on the towering stacks of furniture, smaller items shoved into the nooks and crannies, the small pile of items he had liberated and sorted through.

Everything he had picked up had an equal potential, split between fascinating and mundane. Some books he had picked up were only older copies of textbooks, many of which Tom ruled as outdated and therefore useless-

Hermione gasped, which broke Harry from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and turned to the door, grasping the handle and pulling it open until the room was on full display for his friends.

Ron and Hermione immediately strode inside, Blaise following along. He raised an eyebrow at Harry as he passed, then smirked.

“Well done. I’ve never heard of this place.”

“Not many do,” Harry answered. “Which is why it would be the best place to look.”

“Harry?” Hermione called. Her eyes were huge – her hands were hovering over the small pile of books he had been through. “What _is_ this place?”

“The, uh, Room of Requirement.” He said as he drifted close to the last place he’d been busy at. “People dump things here they don’t need.”

“ _Don’t need?!_ ” Hermione gasped, clutching a book to her chest. It was the earliest copy of Hogwarts; A History he had found so far. Tom couldn’t even _read_ the Old English, yet Harry could absolutely believe that Hermione would find a way to read it.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, anyway… I’ve never seen the ends of this room. Um, that’s the interesting book pile, that’s the…” Harry paused, glancing at Hermione for a second, “…not so interesting book pile; that’s the weird knickknacks. Anything really big I’ve left alone, but I try to open as many cupboards as possible and look underneath the first layer.”

Hermione carefully returned her book and stepped into the first rows of towering junk. “This is unbelievable!”

“Hey, Harry, do you know when the painting went missing?” Ron called.

“11th century,” Blaise answered, which made Ron raise his head as he looked around.

“…What’s the bet the further back you go, the less recent the items are?”

“Ron’s got a point,” Tom inputted. “If you’re in a hurry – and most are – then you leave the item by the door.” Blaise was nodding along, almost as if he heard Tom. But he repeated what the ghost said, abet in different words.

They hurried after Hermione, who was pulling books off each stack, flipping through each one, and tucking them under her arms. By the time they pulled her aside and explained their plan of attack, she was struggling to shove another one under her arm.

“Well, _yes_ , but…” Hermione frowned. “That might be true for the smaller things, like books and pens, but what about _desks?_ Chairs? Wardrobes? How do they get up so high? How do they balance so precariously? You couldn’t expect a student to climb all the way up to balance a suitcase _just right_.”

She took a breath. “If you want to search _smartly_ , then you’ve got to analyse how this Room works. It’s magic, but there’s got to be some sense of rules and rhyme to _make_ it work.”

“Well, how would _we_ do that? We’re _second years_. The only person I could think of is Bill.”

“Who?” Blaise asked.

“My older brother who’s a curse breaker.” Ron paused, listening to what he just said. “Ok, he might not be suitable – but he’s the one to go-to for any weird magic stuff.” Hermione shook her head, a determined fire burning in her eyes.

“ _We_ can do it. We’ll just have to look up some spells that would be helpful and plan a system to test the room.” Hermione turned to Harry. “What’s the exact entry requirements.”

“You walk in front of that wall three times thinking of what room you would like.” He answered, and then paused. “…also, this isn’t the only room you can access.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “That opens up so much more questioning!”

“We have the rest of the Christmas holidays do to it?” he offered, which made Blaise snort.

“It’ll be _highly_ certain it’ll take a few years.”

Ron groaned. “Hermione will _never_ let this go.”

She planted her fists on her hips and grinned brightly. “Isn’t this _exciting_ , though? Who knows what we could find here!”

“Ah,” Harry said, but it wasn’t him. It was from Tom. “I’ve already picked up a few spells which you should also learn.”

Tom spun Harry’s body around and marched through the rows until the four of them were standing before a head mannequin made of fine, deep royal blue fabric. Harry drew out his wand, knowing what Tom was directing Harry to do. He cast the detection spell, the mannequin lighting up in a dark purple glow.

“This is how you detect curses and nasty spells.” He explained, demonstrating the wand movement for Hermione who’d already had her wand ready. “I’ve just been leaving things alone if they’ve had any kind of spell on them, though.”

Blaise nodded. “Good idea. We’re only second year.”

Harry turned back to the mannequin, intending to end the spell for Hermione to practice on, only for Tom’s interest to suddenly spike.

His hand moved without his permission and plucked out a small folded sheet of parchment from underneath the model. “This wasn’t here before,” Tom said although it wasn’t really for his friend’s benefits.

He heard Ron and Hermione immediately step closer as he unfolded the parchment, reading the contents along with himself. Blaise takes a second longer for Harry to start explaining, but they stay silent.

> Congratulations, contestant! You have been invited to the 1st Ravenclaw’s Trials!
> 
> Ravenclaw’s Trials is a series of quests to test your mental, physical and emotional limits, pushing you beyond and above your comfort zones. Prepare to be challenged in order to be crowned!
> 
> The Initiation quest will be held at 10am, Christmas Eve of 1992. Interested contestants should convene at:
> 
> 2th floor, Ravenclaw’s Tower; room 3.
> 
> Enter solo or in groups, you will fight for the right to enter the Ravenclaw’s Trials. And if you fail, the price is your **pride**.

Harry looked up at his friends. They all leaned over to look at the parchment in his hands.

“Hermione?” Harry tentatively said, nudging the girl beside him.

Her mouth moved for a while. “…I’ve never heard of the Ravenclaw’s Trials.”

“Hang on,” Ron interrupted. “Everything in the castle was blue and bronze themed today.”

Blaise blinked rapidly. “Is this how you guys get into everything? By _chance?_ ”

“Huh?”

“Well, you know,” the Italian boy struggled for words. “Last year, Hermione just _happened_ to be in the bathrooms and the troll just _happened_ to be right where she was. You also just _happened_ to be with Hagrid during that whole dragon business, and you just _happened_ to be in that Third Corridor when whatever Professor Quirrell did… well, nobody’s quite sure, but _whatever he did_. And now you’ve just so happened to find a note inviting you to some _Trials_ nobody’s heard of?!”

Harry blushed at Blaise’s words. He was missing some information, such as how they had tracked someone trying to break in _because of_ the troll incident (even though they thought it was the bat and not Quirrell), but from his incredulous story, it really did seem like that.

“Ah, well, it was all _linked_ …” Harry began, but Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“We can talk about that later. I want to talk about _this_.” She pointed to the parchment. “Is it being truthful? Is it a prank? What _is_ it?”

“It’s a challenge,” Ron answered, and shrugged. “I don’t think some pranksters would change the whole _school_ to only target _us._ The twins _might_ do that, but they’ve been planning a prank on Professor Flitwick for a while.”

Harry frowned down at the neatly written lines. He sent a vague _?_ towards Tom. It was more like a raw emotion than thoughts, but it was the best he could really do.

“It might be best to accept the challenge but with your wand ready,” Tom replied. “It _is_ suspicious, but it doesn’t seem _malicious_.”

Harry folded up the piece of parchment and slid it into his robe’s pockets. “I think we should check out the room. Today or wait until the starting time.”

“You’re going?” Blaise raised his eyebrows.

“It _is_ interesting,” Hermione admitted. “Maybe someone wanted to add a little competition to the year?”

“She’s onto something,” Tom said.

Ron’s stomach growled. “I know!” he said brightly. “Let’s go to lunch and discuss it over a good sandwich.”

“ _Afterwards_ we could go to the library and look for spells that would be good for this Room,” Hermione added on, and Ron’s face grew pinched. Nevertheless, he slowly nodded. They began to move away, Blaise and Harry trailing behind.

“I have a feeling you’re seriously considering attending…” Blaise trailed off at Harry’s grin.

“Hermione’s got a point. It sounds like a little competition held by an upper-year. We might not be able to do much because we’re second years, but why not try?”

He paused. “Like the Defense Club, only run by students.”

“ _And_ the invitations are exclusive,” Blaise added, voice tense. Then, when Harry shrugged, he sighed. “I don’t like this.”

“What happened last year what a freak accident.” He assured the Italian boy. “Whatever Ravenclaw has cooked up, I doubt it can be bad as Moldie.”

Blaise went through a range of emotions at Harry’s nickname from disbelief, repulsed to crestfallen acceptance. “That was disgusting. But from now on, I only accept Moldie.”

Harry laughed.


	17. Chapter 17

Blaise reminded everyone that the Trials appeared to be invitation-only, so the four of them refrained from breathing a word about it until they were absolutely sure they were the only people in the room. That typically meant the Room of Requirement, and they hardly had anything else to do during the holidays they almost always found themselves there.

It was delightful to have his friends there. Blaise and Ron could recognise the magical things while Hermione and Harry could identify the muggle items. Blaise could far more accurately assess the value, and Hermione could always recite the history of any object, and if it was muggle, share how it worked. For the most part, Harry followed, but Tom asked in-depth questions that only he could hear. His excuse for asking how a laser works was that Blaise and Ron didn’t know how it worked.

When she replied with “It emits electromagnetic radiation through a process called stimulated emission.” …well, Harry was asking for himself.

Hermione had even come up with a way to test the Room’s power, and for this afternoon they were to begin the tests.

“Right.” Hermione pulled out a massive marker they had found in the room and drew an X on the surface of a desk. “This is so we can easily spot it.”

“Does it come off?” Ron asked, and rubbed his finger over the mark. It didn’t even smudge, but the tip of his finger was black. “Oops.”

She winced. “Well, seeing as they left it here I thought I could draw on it… I didn’t want to tie something on it, because that could be removed…”

“I don’t think the teachers are going to get angry.” Harry gently assured her.

“I’m just not going to look at it.” She declared and pointed to a tower that was several metres away from the entrance. “That’s where we got it from, so either the desk could be returned to that stack _or…_ ” here she gestured to the stacks before the door “…It’ll go over there.”

“I hope it doesn’t go back to its original stack. It took a lot of effort to do a levitation charm that concise.” Ron remarked as he lifted the end up and shuffled back to the door. Harry had the other end and made sure to not walk too fast.

They left, close the door behind them, and stepped away to the other corridor just to be sure. Returning, they dumped the desk – literally. Hermione wanted it to be as close to a normal occurrence they shoved it through the door and it fell on its side with a loud clang – and repeated.

They returned, and the desk was not where they had left it. A quick survey and a little bit of climbing revealed that it did go to the stacks closest to the door.

“Alright.” Hermione grinned. “Next phase. Everyone is going to go in a separate direction and try to find something that can easily be dated. Something that is _super-specific_. It will help us narrow down the timeline for that area. It would help if you could find several objects all around the same time very close together.”

They branched off from the door, Hermione immediate left of the door and Blaise immediate right, Ron and Harry somewhere between the two.

As they walked, Tom began to comment on the objects as they passed them.

“…That’s a rather nice pair of earrings. Shame they’re cursed. Oh! Look at that desk! That’s a really old model of magical sewing machines they used to make. But it's right next to an award from the 1960s.”

Harry’s eyes passed over so many books. They littered every surface, shoved into gaps between furniture and under desks. A good chunk of them was deemed not of interest by Tom, simply because they weren’t old or scandalous enough. Whenever they found something that the Ministry would frown upon, Tom’s voice would take a note of excitement, a momentary wonder.

He wondered what it would be like to find a book that would truly strike Tom speechless. It would be a book, perhaps, but one so special that Tom _had_ to have a personal connection to. He’d open it, and his neat handwriting would be written _Tom Riddle_ and Harry would be touching something that _Tom_ also handled…

Tom chuckled, and Harry stumbled mid-walk. “Well, I don’t think I have something like a book, but try that box over there.” Ignoring his embarrassment, he followed the ghost’s instruction and found it.

Before Tom continued, Harry recognised what he was seeing. It was a really old phonograph! The main box was sitting innocently on a low table, but he could see the horn had been wrestled out of its place and laid to the side.

He pulled it up and with some muttering and _light_ cursing, replaced the horn.

“Lucky!” Tom said, delighted. “The discs were under it!”

There was a stack of large square pockets. Harry pulled out a piece. He’d never handled a record before but was familiar with how they worked thanks to the TV shows the Dursleys watched. Carefully, he slid the record out and laid it gently under the needle. As he rested the needle on the edge, he realised he was lacking something.

“It needs electricity!” he muttered, elation dropping. “And technology can’t work at Hogwarts!”

“Not quite,” Tom interrupted and took over his body. Tom checked all the sides until he found a crank on the opposite side. He spun the box around and began to turn it. Very slowly at first, waiting for signs to see if it still worked. Then –

Sweet music spilled from the horn, a multitude of instruments swelling from the silence until it surrounded Harry. Tom kept at the crank until he was satisfied and then stepped away.

“…This was the music I listen to. I didn’t get to listen to it often, because the orphanage was poor and Magical Britain had yet to discover them.” Tom knelt beside the crate and leafed through the records. “You’re in luck! These are all from a very specific time period.” His fingers flipped through the record sheaths with adept finesse, fingers walking over the edges of the plastic.

Tom pulled out one. “Frenesi, by Artie Shaw.” He pulled the needle up again and swapped the records, and stepped back. “I remember listening to this on Christmas.”

“Do you?” Harry startled and spun around. Blaise was behind him, eyebrow raised.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, trying to think of something to say. “I was in a second-hand store.”

Blaise tiled his head. “Second-hand?”

“You buy unwanted items. Often its older stuff, like this.” Blaise rolled his eyes at his words.

“I _know_. Do you think you can narrow down when this pile of junk, though?”

Tom turned Harry’s body back to the record box and spoke again. “Yes. This phonograph’s make is from the 1940s but the records range from 1910s to the 40s.” He flipped over the record sheath in Harry’s hands and pointed to the information blurb, where it held the publishment date. 1941.

Blaise nodded along. “It’s a great marker. I think I found something passable.”

“Harry!” Hermione said as she appeared out of the stacks. “My gosh. This music is useful! I think I almost got lost.”

Harry saw Ron running through the stacks, clutching a cloth to his chest as he searched for them. He arrived with the biggest grin Harry had ever seen. He presented the item for all of them to look at. It was a Tushill Tornados sweater.

“Look at this!” he grinned around the light blue fabric. “It’s a Tornados sweater from when they temporarily had a broomstick on their logo! This is _incredibly rare!_ ”

Blaise made an interesting noise but Hermione shook her head. “Don’t tell me you got distracted by the Quidditch items?”

Ron carefully folded the sweater over his arms and pouted. “ _No_. There was a poster of John Jobs, an Arrows player who had an incredibly short run.”

He sighed when they all stood there, staring at him. “He was disgraced and blacklisted by everyone. I’m highly certain that the poster came from 1985.”

Hermione nodded and looked at Blaise.

“I found a skeleton of an extinct, exotic bird that hasn’t been since 1863. I had a look around and I’m fairly sure it's accurate.” Blaise reported and turned to Harry, who parroted what Tom said.

It was Hermione’s turn, and she began by brandishing a capped pen with a smirk. “I found the last fountain pen.”

She didn’t pause for reactions. “As I walked I checked all the desks for pens and when I found the last fountain pen, I could guess the year. You see, the fountain pen wasn’t invented until the 1600s, _but_ it wasn’t introduced to the wizarding world until 1700s. I think where I found this one was around the 1700s because it’s a _very_ nice pen and doesn’t _look_ like it’s from the early years of the invention.”

Behind Harry’s back, the phonograph slowed down and stopped. “Ok, what now?” he asked.

“Now, we record how far each of our items from the entrance are and calculate from there.” Hermione pulled out a roll of parchment and set it against a nearby desk. “It’s good we all found items from various eras.”

She drew a line representing the door (with the fountain pen she had found) and arrows branching from it, expressing each of them. Ron’s was the shortest, while Hermione’s was the longest. At the tip of each arrow, she marked the guessed timeframe.

She straightened. “Time to walk back and measure the stacks. Harry, please lead the way. I just followed the music.”

They did that for each of them. Ron’s assessment was pretty accurate; the face of Jobs was scribbled out, while every other memorabilia was in almost pristine condition. At Hermione’s end, they searched for a while and agreed that it had to be around when fountain pens were introduced to the wizarding world. They didn’t catch on in the magical world because quills were easy to use if you could easily clean up the mess, so there were very few fountain pens around.

On Blaise and Harry’s end, there were a few items around that generally agreed with their assessments, so there was little correction done.

Back at the door, Hermione wrote down many stacks between there and the time frames. She drew a large hemisphere and tapped her pen against the paper.

“11th century, right?” she glanced at Blaise.

“Yeah.” Harry agreed. Hermione bit her lip and scribbled down her calculations.

“Along the sides, it’s a little shorter, so about 90 to 110 stacks. However, from the door to the highest point of the curve, I’d say anywhere from 130 to 160 stacks.” Hermione rubbed her cheek. She still had the fountain pen in her palm, and it left unfortunate ink tracks beside her ear. “As we go, we’ll keep on assessing the items and trying to identify their time frame, which should help us narrow it down.”

Ron released an explosive sigh. “Damn. That’s going to take _forever_.”

“All for a painting,” Harry added. “At least we have a few years?”

“We’ll have to mark our way.” Hermione capped the pen and pocketed it. “It will be _very_ dreadful to get lost.”

She was answered with grimaces.

“Come on.” She sighed. “Let’s go do our holiday work _now_ before the Trials start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally caught up to pre-written chapters, so idk when I'm gonna upload next! I do want to keep to my weekly uploads, but i can't promise T^T


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not posting for a while T^T  
> the first trial approaches!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello readers! Recently I’ve been trying to improve how I show characterisation and how realistic my dialogue is, so if you could possibly give some feedback on that regard, I’d love it. Thank you for reading!

Ron dropped onto his bed like a sack of potatoes. He wiggled in the bed covers, shifting his shoes against each other until they fell off.

“That was _awful_.” He groaned.

“It wasn’t bad.” Harry protested as he sat on Ron’s bed. “It does feel good to finish homework early.”

“Hermione’s always right.”

Harry laughed. The study session zipped through his mind; despite Ron’s allergy to homework, there was little fuss from all of them as they finished their essays.

“Blaise is pretty cool, right? He knew all that potions stuff.”

Ron rolled over and sat up. “I wish Snape would _teach_ us this. Some of us are too damn lazy to pick up and read an extra-circular book.” He grinned at Harry. “But yeah, Blaise is pretty cool.”

“I’m glad I talked to him.”

Ron scoffed. “Don’t go replacing me!”

Harry straightened where he sat. “Of course not!” he frowned lightly. Where had he given off that impression? “You’re my best friend Ron, he’s my best friend Blaise, and Hermione’s my best friend Hermione.”

Ron stared at him for a few seconds. Then he suddenly reached behind him and slammed Harry with his pillow. With a playful shout, Harry attacked the pillow and wrestled it from Ron’s hands.

The freckled boy dashed over to Harry’s bed to grab the pillow from there, and they eyed each other from opposing sides of Ron’s bed.

“Climb over the bed,” Tom said. Harry was thankful he’d already taken off his shoes because he didn’t have to waste time ascending the bed and descending on the owner, pillow first.

Pillow fights were always exhausting, no matter how light the pillows. Within a few swings from both of them, their arms were shaking from exhaustion. But Ron’s eyes were bright and Harry knew that whatever he had said before was long forgotten.

“Ok ok,” Ron bent over, pillow barely hanging from his fingertips. He offered it to Harry. “I’m going to take a shower now.” Harry took his pillow and returned Ron’s to his bed. He dragged his bag over and began unloading all the books and parchment rolls.

“Don’t forget the inkpots and quills.” Tom reminded him.

“Always take them out, otherwise they get crushed.” Harry dolefully continued, dropping two inkpots on the tiny desk and laying his quills before them. His hand muscles twitched; Harry watched his hand nudge the inkpots into a neat uniform row. “Thanks.”

It was still strange to see his body move without his permission, but as Tom began to use his body more and more, it was slowly becoming just another thing of his daily life. His hand moving to straighten a tie, a sentence rewritten, questions are written in the corner of his pages, a helping of vegetables on his plate. Just like now, they were no more than a nudge at his daily life, unobtrusive.

After his shower, Harry pulled his desk chair over to the window and made himself comfortable with his doona wrapped around him. It was becoming increasingly cold, and the trees were already covered in a light layer of white. The twins held a snow fight on Christmas Day last year, and although they had gone home this year, Harry held out for one.

He shivered and drew the doona closer.

“Tom, what do you think of this Ravenclaw Trial?”

“The one Trial, or the whole thing?”

Harry rolled his eyes and refused to answer. His legs suddenly folded up onto the chair and his arms moved the doona until it was wrapped around the top of his head and knees.

“You should be in bed, for one.” Tom chided, but continued anyway, beginning with a sigh. “I’ve never heard of the Ravenclaw Trials, and I’ve dedicated myself to learning everything about Hogwarts and its founders. I would’ve thought it was just something a teacher or older student thought of because it’s the first. But on the other hand, the entire castle was decorated. I caught a glimpse of the teachers trying to fiddle with the decorations, so it couldn’t have been a teacher, so all that is left is an extremely talented older student. But I haven’t interacted with many people, so I can’t say who’s hiding their skills…”

Tom trailed off, muttering to himself. Harry dropped his head; at this angle, he could see more stars. There wasn’t any moon tonight, nothing to outshine the Milky Way. From his window, he could see the band of stars across the sky, spread out over the dark backdrop of space.

“Can you tell me more about the founders?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“You said you studied them a lot.”

“Yes, I did. As you should know, I focused mainly on my house, Salazer Slytherin, of course. He is a man of highly ambiguous background, but nevertheless he was a highly respected knight.”

“How did he know the other founders?”

“All we really know about them is their involvement in Hogwarts. They wished for a safe haven for magical kind, and that wish…”

“It eventually led to this.” He stuck his arm out of the warm protection around him and gently ran his hand over the stone walls around the window ledge.

“Some speculate if this castle predates the Founders, or if the four of them built it brick by brick. Pull your hand back.” He did. “Needless to say the Hogwarts castle holds just as many secrets as the Founder’s lives. Who built it? Why is it so magical? How many rooms are there? Who made all the secret shortcuts?”

“Do you know any?”

“I know that the Founders have left their mark, and not just only by making this into a school. Rumours have it that Slytherin has left a room, hidden only to those of his lineage, full of unknown but priceless treasure and knowledge.”

Harry tilted his head. “What about the others?”

Tom chuckled. “They left items. Gryffindor’s Sword, Ravenclaw’s Diadem, Hufflepuff’s Cup... unfortunately, all of them have been lost to time, and just like the Chamber of Secrets, wizard kind will just have to accept their disappearance. Now, come on, you’re almost about to fall off your chair.”

His body straightened and shuffled over to his bed. He barely was aware of the chilled pillow under his cheek before he slipped away, asleep.

However, Ron was loud, and Harry had been trained to awaken at the slightest noise. Sometime near daybreak, Ron snuffled and shifted in his sleep, and Harry rolled over to see the soft twilight colours through the window.

Even in the early hour, Harry felt fully rested. He didn’t bounce out of bed though, and instead, he laid there for almost an hour, inconsequential thoughts fading in and out. A light doze settled on him, something that was close to sleeping.

Neville muttered in his sleep, and Harry snapped out of his nap. This time he rose, pushing off the doona and dashing across the cold timber floors to the toilet. When he returned to his bed, he was way too awake to even think about returning to his bed. No matter how warm the doona looked.

He changed out of his pyjamas into a dull grey sweater with worn jeans, overly large socks quickly slipped on. The floorboards were _cold_.

“We could always review some spells.” Tom offered. Harry wrinkled his nose. No, thank you. No matter how fascinating magic was when Tom wanted to ‘review some spells,’ they’d go through an entire year of Transfiguration or Charms. Maybe both at the same time. There was a line Harry had, and that was pushing it.

“It’s always good to go over old spells!” the ghost protested.

“Another time.” Harry firmly said.

It seemed to be time for the average Gryffindor boy to awaken; he could hear shuffling above him, and if he tried, he could hear low voices. Neville began to snuffle and sigh, a sign that he was close to waking up.

Harry leaned over Ron’s bed. Hermione had requested Harry to wake Ron up a little earlier as she had wanted to have a little time beforehand to survey the room the Trials were using.

“Ron, get up.” He called, poking the red-haired boy’s shoulder. His face scrunched up, and he rolled over. “Rooon.”

It took a little more prodding, but soon the ginger boy was fishing around in his luggage for clothes, yawning into his hand. “Ugh. I know Hermione wants us up early but this is criminal.”

“This is the normal time you wake up for class,” Harry pointed out. Ron made a face and left for the bathroom.

Harry sat on his bed, legs lightly kicking the air. He probably would’ve let Ron sleep in more, but he didn’t hold holidays highly; before Hogwarts, school was the only way to escape the Dursleys, even though he had to share a class with Dudley. The holidays were chock full of chores, boring, tedious (now that was a word he learnt from Tom!) and exhausting.

But, Harry didn’t have the _luxury_ of watching TV, even if it was the news. Only Uncle Vernon liked to watch the news, and the Dursleys agreed that Harry shouldn’t be able to see a second of all the shows Dudley watched.

God forbid if Harry approached Dudley’s computer.

Although… now that Harry thought about it, there was hardly anything else to do, during the holidays. Maybe if Harry had something else to do, he would put up more of a resistance to all the chores Aunt Petunia piled on him.

Ron returned by then. He was walking across the floor, then paused, face screwing up in concentration. “Shall we went?”

“Not quite, you’ve got the tense wrong. Shall we go?”

“Yeah!”

The Common Room was deserted. Plenty of students went home, and those that stayed slept in like Ron. Breakfast went until 10 am for these two weeks for a good reason.

“Hermione!” Harry called from the hanging platform, waving down at her. Her curly hair bounced as she stood up and met them at the base of the stairs.

“Are you ready?” she said, eyes shining and hands gripping her over-the-shoulder bag strap. “Blaise said he’ll meet us at the Hall.”

Ron, who was a step behind and above Harry, leaned over his shoulder to peer at her bag. “Blimey, that looks like it’s about to burst!”

“I want to be prepared!”

“You’re gonna trip, that’s what’s gonna happen.”

Hermione sighed. Harry could see her shoulder almost shaking; the bag was too heavy for her to cart around. Together, they sorted through the bag, and Hermione returned several books to her room.

“Let me guess,” Blaise crossed his arms when he saw them. “Hermione’s bag delayed you all.”

Ron and Harry grinned at the Italian boy around Hermione. She raised her nose and strode by Blaise into the Hall, making for the table.

The teachers were all crowded at the other end, as is customary. Other students were sprinkled around, mostly sitting by themselves or in twos. Harry surveyed everyone as the three of them walked behind Hermione. Nobody was wearing robes, but there was no mistaking one Gryffindor at the table.

“Ginny!” Ron called, making a funny face at his sister when she made eye contact with him. She poked her tongue out and crossed her eyes in reply, but then her gaze slid to Harry and she quickly looked away, scooping up a spoon of her cereal. “Rude.”

Blaise and Harry split from Ron, walking around to the other side so they could sit opposite from the other two.

“Make sure you get a full _healthy_ breakfast,” Hermione commanded them, loading up her plate with slices of apples and oranges. Ron opened his mouth, and she moved the place of artfully arranged fruit over his empty dish. He had no choice but to take it, and after a year of friendship with Hermoine, he dejectedly began picking off pieces to place on his plate. Harry gratefully took the plate next, happily picking off some apple and banana slices.

“Leave some red apple for me!” Blaise protested, fork perched in his hand.

They ate and chatted between bites. At 9 o’clock sharp, Hermione and Blaise mutually stood up and left Harry and Ron to scramble after them. As they walked to the Ravenclaw tower, Hermione pulled out the one book she brought along. Despite Ron trying to convince her that she won’t have time to read a book in the middle of a Trial, Hermione refused to let go of _Rational Ravenclaw_ , an in-depth study of anything Ravenclaw, including the founder.

“They gathered every single scrap of information they could gather and the authors made sure to verify it all before putting it in this book. There’s a lot to discuss about Lady Ravenclaw, because like Sire Slytherin, she kept a journal.”

“Slytherin’s journal wasn’t very informative about _him_ , though,” Blaise answered. “It talks about Hogwarts and the other Founders, but he never talked about himself.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Have you read _Sagacious Slytherin_? I’ve been meaning to read it, but it’s never in the library…”

“The Slytherin First Years share it between themselves.”

“I see!” Hermione leaned forward, but before she could ask further, Tom spoke, through Harry.

“What’s _Rational Ravenclaw? Sagacious Slytherin?_ ” he inquired.

“It’s one of the most in-depth gatherings of history!” Hermione turned around to speak to Harry. “They tried to do one like _Hogwarts; A History_ , but they eventually just split it between each Founder. When it came out, they had information – _verified_ , as well! – that nobody had heard before! It’s a tremendous book, I think you two should at least read _Gregarious Gryffindor_.”

“All of them are fascinating,” Blaise added. “They found evidence of the Founder’s early lives – from before their Founder days.”

“Oh, really?” Tom murmured, just to himself and Harry. “That definitely wasn’t out when I was attending…”

“I’ll give it a shot. After this.” Harry said, speaking both to his friends and the ghost inside him. “Oh, I think we’re here.”

‘Here’ was a plain wooden door. It had no door handle or a plaque, but on the rock doorframe, one stone had faded outlines of letters. It was illegible, but by counting the doors from the end of the corridor, the four of them was sure that this was the third door on the second level of the Ravenclaw Tower.

“Ok, we have forty-five minutes left,” Hermione announced. “What should we do?”

“Give us a go about the book,” Ron gestured to the book held under her arm. “There might be a quiz on Lady Ravenclaw.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Good idea! Ok, so, let’s start on her relic, the Ravenclaw Diadem…”

She talked on and on, flipping pages and gesturing with the hand not holding her book. Their legs got tired quickly and soon they chose to sit before the door; Hermione with her back to it, Harry, Ron and Blaise facing her. When Hermione got a little too vague, or when she assumed they knew information given in other books, Blaise piped up and filled in the gaps.

Then – at one point, Harry glanced up to the door and was shocked to see a dark blue plaque resting on the worn planks. The four of them shot up, standing on the tips of their toes to crowd around the plaque.

**FIRST TRIAL**

ENTER TO BEGIN

“Here it is!” Ron exclaimed.

“Oh no, it’s real.” Blaise murmured, voice faint.

“Well!” Hermione planted her fists on her hips. “Let’s go!” Harry looked around at his friends. Blaise was the only one out of them who looked even the faintest sense of worry. He nudged the Italian boy knowing full well the crazy grin stretching across his face wasn’t much comfort.

“Let’s have some fun!”

Hermione reached out to the door handle, and swung open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i already have the next chapter written, so dw you'll get it in a week!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1st Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i almost forgot to post this. i was doing my assessment then realised... fock. it's a Sunday.

## 10 AM, 24TH OF DECEMBER, 1992

The circular room was made of cobblestone; though the floor was made of flat stones no larger than a fist, the walls were bulging with wildly varying in size round stones. In symmetric distance from each other was dark blue tapestries with white eagles in various flight sequences. The ceiling was high; in what should’ve been the third floor was wide, open windows, although no sky could be seen through them, only warm light. Opposite the door, they came through was an identical door.

In the middle was a column pedestal, covered with a dark blue tapestry with a single slab of stone perched at the top. It was smoothed down until it was a semisphere. There was nobody else but them, and Harry could not see instructions for anything.

Ron stepped up to the pedestal, reaching out towards the surface of the stone.

“Ron!” Hermione gasped, now showing caution. “What are you doing?”

He threw his hands out. “There isn’t much else, is there?”

“The tapestries,” Blaise protested, to which Ron rolled his eyes.

“If you find secret instructions in the details, let me know.”

“I’m with Ron,” Harry said, having stepped towards one of the Ravenclaw tapestries. “It’s just decoration.” The ginger boy smirked.

“Well,” Hermione began, scrambling for options. Her eyes darted about the room rapidly. “I suppose the only thing we _can_ do is touch the stone.”

“Oh my god,” Blaise moaned, touching his hand to his forehead and massaging it. “Oh my _god_ …”

Harry heard Tom laughing.

“Okay then,” Ron shrugged and slapped the stone. Blaise lurched forward just as his hand touched the surface.

The birds on the tapestries shivered and jumped to life. They hopped and squawked, they pecked the grown and fluttered their wings. Then, collectively, they flew off the fabric, vanishing as they left the edges.

In their place, text faded into place. It looked like it belonged on the cover of _Hogwarts; A History_ – the font was so detailed and fancy. It also made it completely unreadable to Harry, who was not used to flourishes, and certainly not of this level.

He glanced at Hermione, who was squinting at the words.

“I can’t read it.” She announced. “It’s too old.”

“Wait, do you mean age?” Ron looked at her sharply.

“She meant the language is archaic.” Blaise corrected. “It hasn’t been updated since it was first made.”

“Wow,” Harry involuntary said. “Isn’t there a translation spell, though?” His friends turned to look at him at the sound of his voice, then suddenly startled.

“There’s something on the door!” Hermione cried, storming over to the door just beside Harry. It was an ordinary sheet of parchment, one bought at any modern store. Hermione pulled it off the door and furiously read through each line. “It’s a translation!”

“Whoever set this up was prepared,” Blaise noted, reading the parchment over Hermione’s shoulder. Ron and Harry quickly joined.

> **CONTESTANTS!**
> 
> Welcome to the First Trial! In this introductory phase, your challenge is simple: unlock the other door and exit.
> 
> A simple unlocking spell won’t work though! All those inside the room at once will now become a group for future Trials, and this group can begin this Trial by collectively touching the centre stone.
> 
> A secret not yet told must be spoken to activate the Trial.
> 
> Do your best!

“A secret not yet told?” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Why so specific?”

Ron hummed. “Well, you’d want your team members to be people who you trust, and this might be a way to test that bond.”

“To the stone, I suppose,” Blaise sighed, breaking away from the huddle to do so. They spread around the pedestal; Harry stood opposite Ron with Hermione on his left, one hand poised in the air.

Harry looked up to see three sets of eyes on him. “I guess, we begin?”

Ron dropped his arm without a thought, Hermione lightly touched it, and Blaise barely skimmed the surface. Harry firmly pressed his hand down.

The ambient light dropped away, and in place, embedded stones began to glow. The stone under their hands bathed everyone in white light tinged with green. Harry glanced at Blaise, who opened his mouth and spoke.

“I’m… interested in reading muggle fantasy books.” He said and turned to Ron.

Ron took a deep breath. “Sometimes - some days I feel uncomfortable, and I don’t know why.”

Hermione didn’t wait for Ron to look at her; she was already saying “I’m terrified for my future,” as she stared down at the stone.

Then, it was Harry, but his mind blanked. What could he say? There were numerous things he’d never told anyone, but everything seemed to fall out of his head at that very second. “I – I – I – I’m _glad_ I set the zoo snake on Dudley.”

The stone continued to glow. Panic began to rise in Harry – perhaps the stone picked up on that he didn’t _just_ feel glad, but that watching Dudley scream and scramble away called forth an emotion he hardly felt – he felt _gleeful_ to see the tears in his cousin’s eyes –

Harry’s mouth moved. “I had a pet snake when I was little, and it was the only friend I ever had, until recently.”

 _Tom!_ It was from Tom! He’d forgotten about the ghost. He never thought the stone would pick up on Tom, though. How did ghosts count?

The stone responded, fading away as ambient light slowly returned to the room.

The four of them stood for a while, only listening to each other breathe.

“I guess – we could let go?” Harry guessed, slowly pulling away. Hermione and Ron dropped their hands, but Blaise – unlike at the beginning, seemed wary of letting the stone go. He peeled his fingers back one by one, but his head was swivelling around, trying to see any difference.

Blaise scoffed. “What’s next? Water gushes in-”

The room turned green. No – the light turned green, Harry realised. He looked upwards to the lights.

“Those aren’t windows, those are lights!” he gasped.

“What, like fluorescent lights?” Hermione frowned. “It must be a spread out _lumos_ spell.”

The four of them squinted up to the green lights, watching, waiting for something to happen.

“Is it turning orange?” Ron questioned.

“It is,” Blaise answered. The vivid green shifted over to vibrant orange, then, darkened, and darkened, and darkened, until the room was bathed in an angry red.

“Uh, I feel like we should do something,” Ron warned.

“Do _you_ have any ideas?” Hermione huffed.

The light pulsed, flashing between a red so dark it could be called black, then returning to the original red. Harry blinked as a thought occurred to him. “Is – is it a countdown?”

“Countdown to _what?”_ Blaise demanded. “If anyone has an idea, please do it now.”

Ron moved. Harry looked down in time to see him touch the stone again.

They were all green again, and Blaise let out a breath of air.

“Touch the stone to reset the countdown.” Hermione murmured, fist pressed against her mouth. When the light was noticeably orange, she touched the stone, and it returned to green. “Don’t touch it, I’m counting.”

The four of them stood in silence, watching the colours change. Harry didn’t bother looking at the windows; the light was the only source in the room so it was easy to see it where ever he looked.

Harry stopped breathing when it pulsed red. Then the beat began to speed up, flashing and flashing until Harry couldn’t do anything except lean forward and slap the stone. Green.

“I’m guessing one minute exactly,” Hermione announced.

Blaise bit his lip. “How close did we get?”

“56 seconds.”

It sent all of them into troubled silence. What was at the end of the countdown? Was it suggesting that they had to prepare for something? Did they have to find something? Harry’s thoughts were interrupted when Ron touched the stone again. Green.

“Well,” Harry sighed. “Any ideas? Do you think there’s something that we need to find?”

“Why the resetting, then?” Hermione countered. “We could just leave someone at the stone to reset it, and try to find another way out.”

Blaise raised his eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be very ‘no man gets left behind,’”

“Well, maybe not like _that_. Maybe it’s more like – I don’t know, there’s a certain number of stones we’ve got to touch at the same time, and the countdown is to make it difficult?” Ron said as he touched the stone again.

“Let’s get exploring.” Harry offered, approaching a tapestry. Nothing was moving anymore; the ancient text was still plain as day, the white on the dark blue obvious in any colour of the light. He lifted the fabric, studying the wall behind it. The light changed from orange to green as he ran his hands over the stones, searching for anything.

He moved onto the next tapestry, then the next, and the next, until he met with Hermione at. Abandoning the tapestries, for now, Harry now searched the walls between the fabrics, then the doors.

Nothing. The only thing that changed was the light.

Harry swapped with Ron, giving the ginger boy a chance to explore. He scuffed the floor with his shoe, then looked upwards. Harry watched him stare into the windows, hypnotised by the colours.

Ron looked at the stone. Harry hastily touched it.

“I can’t find anything.” Hermione sighed, Blaise angrily agreeing with her.

There were all at a loss of what to do. They tried everything, from grasping random rocks to trying to climb the stones. The changing colours seemed to fade into the background until Harry sure he’d walk out of the room not believing the sun didn’t switch colours.

“What do we do?” Hermione groaned. “We’ve tried _everything_.”

Blaise stood stock still, arms crossed tightly. Harry thought that he was trying to appear bigger than he was, but the Italian boy was constantly shifting weight from one foot to another, ready to move at the slightest sign.

Harry pulled on his sweater’s sleeves, feeling the rough fabric under his fingers. “I…”

What could they _do?_

The room blackened – Harry’s heart skyrocketed. He spun back to Ron, waiting for the red-haired boy to move.

He did not.

“Ron!” Hermione shrieked, throwing herself at the centre stone. The room brightened again, leaving the three of them to stare at a green Ron. “What was that?”

“What if… the answer is to let it run out?” he questioned.

Blaise startled, blinking rapidly. Hermione opened and closed her mouth. Harry thought about how Ron had stood in the middle of the room for a long time, not bothering to search for hidden keys.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he guessed.

Ron’s eyes met Harry’s. “Well – yeah. We can’t find anything, and it’s not like we have some spell that will solve everything. We’re only second years, Merlin!”

He took a breath.

“It’s – the cost is ‘pride,’ right? Anyone’s pride would get hurt if they hear that the solution is to let it run out.” The thought stewed in their minds.

“We’ve got nothing to lose,” Harry offered.

“But – are you _sure?”_ Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. “We’ve already searched the room.” Hermione closed her mouth, then straightened.

“Yes. Good point.” Hermione straightened, and stepped away from the centre stone. The countdown had been reset twice since the discussion had started, but now there was nobody hovering near it.

Blaise strode forward and slammed his hand down. “Are you _nuts?!”_

He dropped his head until it was resting on his hand. Eyes squeezed shut, his breath escaped his lungs agonisingly slowly.

He straightened. “Are you _sure?”_ Ron replied with a shrug.

“It’s our only lead,” Hermione said. Blaise turned to him, although Harry did not know why.

“I trust Ron.”

Blaise took a step back.

Green, then darker, and darker, and darker…

Orange, then darker, and darker, and darker…

Red, then darker, and darker, and darker…

The first black flash stole Harry’s breath. Blaise squeezed his eyes; Hermione was burning a hole through the centre stone with her eyes; Ron was looking towards the door.

The black flashes came quicker, picking up speed until it was a strobe light. The red came less and less until the room was pitch black.

It was black. He could hear the other’s breaths, some quicker, some shallower, but he couldn’t _see_ anything. It was just black, black, black –

Harry froze. Was that something over there? Was it Ron? Hermione? Blaise? His eyes couldn’t focus on it, but somehow, deep inside him, he had this knowledge that _something_ was right _there_ –

The room lit up again.

Ron laughed, the tremor small but noticeable. “The doorhandle is back!”


	20. Chapter 20

## 9 AM, 25TH OF DECEMBER, 1992

Ron and Harry descended the stairs with their school bags in hand. It was not full of books, and neither was Hermione’s when she joined them. Minimal conversation was exchanged between them as they left the Common Room.

Blaise met them along the way, and they trekked to the seventh floor.

Harry could’ve called up several different kinds of rooms through the Room of Requirement, but he chose to stick to the one they were all familiar with; the junk room. Near the door was the pile of books and knickknacks and four unique chairs.

Harry’s chair was the plain wooden one, while Hermione’s was wooden, like his, but it had a fluffy red velvet cushion. Ron’s was a bright grey beanbag. Blaise had an elaborate shell lounge he liked to recline in.

They settled in a circle, their chairs’ arms touching each other’s.

Harry smiled at his friends. “Merry Christmas!” Ron grinned, finally digging into his bag of presents. Hermione chattered about the letter she’d received from her parents as Blaise pulled out a wrapped present.

“Harry,” he began. “I am honestly _shocked_ at your sense of style. Your jumpers are disgusting. I realised I had no choice but to give you some new sweaters.” He giggled at Blaise’s words and took the box.

Blaise did give him more than one sweater. There were eight of them, all different colours and textures.

“Wear them with your jeans, at least it’ll look nice.” Blaise pointed to his worn jeans. They were so old they were a very pale blue, and as he laid out the first sweater – a very rich dark green with a ribbed pattern – it looked quite nice next to the denim.

Blaise’s gifts to Hermione and Ron were similar – sweaters and jumpers of various colours and fabric. Ron adored his leather jacket, sleeves so puffy he looked bloated when wearing it. It was several sizes too large because Blaise knew that Ron would have kept it for several years. Hermione got a very nice wizarding outer cloak. It had a simple but splendid clasp and it sat just below her collarbone as the cut of the fabric was curved around her shoulders.

“Here’s yours.” Harry pulled the first present from the top. “I couldn’t get anything fancy.”

“I get enough expensive items elsewhere,” Blaise assured him. Harry watched as the Italian boy pulled on the sticky tape holding the wrapping paper together. It was a stamp, custom made for Blaise. Harry, having been stuck on presents for his friends, asked Tom, and together they found a service which offered to make special stamps.

Harry loved the idea and made one for Ron and Hermione as well. For each of them, he made a little doodle of their heads and encircled it with their full name. An ink pad was included in each of the presents.

Blaise peered at his stamp. He popped off the lid, placed the stamp in the green ink pad, then stamped Ron’s arm. As he had the lightest skin the whole group, he had readily agreed to be a test subject.

Blaise grinned down at the stamp. “Did you draw this?”

“Yes, although I did have a little help.” Tom had found the muggle service and also helped Harry finalise his little doodles.

“Hey, you can see my freckles!” Ron peppered the stamp up and down his arm, leaving a trail of red grinning boys. Hermione leaned between Blaise and Harry to press her stamp to his skin. It was black, and the edges of it were ribbed, like a postal stamp. Her curly hair was seen on Ron’s skin.

“Did you get one?” Hermione peered at Harry. He blushed and produced his own. He chose a blue ink because that was the Potter family’s colours. His stamp character’s glasses took up most of his face, and the famous lightning bolt peaked through messy hair.

“This is delightful!” Blaise chuckled, watching Ron dot some wrapping paper with his stamp. The Italian boy stole one corner with his stamp; the green character was smirking and surrounded by red grins, Blaise’s stamp looked just as smug as the boy himself.

Hermione gave everyone a diary book, reportedly inspired by the conversation Harry had with her at the very beginning of the year. A set of muggle ballpoint pen in the colours black, red and blue was paired with the books to complete the set.

Blaise and Ron uncapped their black ballpoint pen and opened the book to the first page. Ron spun his pen in large circles, enjoying the smooth feel of the pen. Blaise chose to write his name down, getting used to the strange ball-point nib.

“I see,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry about angles and such. I could write a lot faster with this!” Hermione beamed at the Italian boy.

“Isn’t it? I greatly prefer ballpoint, you know, but parchment isn’t compatible.” She shuffled about in her bag and pulled out a spiral-bound notebook. She flipped it open to show rows of neat handwriting in blue ink.

“Ok, my turn,” Ron grinned, passing everyone lumps that crinkled in his grip. “First, these are from mum, of course.”

Harry carefully pulled the wrapping paper loose, marvelling in having another Weasley sweater. It was a copy of last year’s, but this time it had some intricate knots woven into the sleeves. “Wow, Ron, your mum is amazing!”

He looked up; Ron pulled out his own, already unwrapped. Hermione was pulling the thick wool over her head. Blaise was running his hands up and down his green sweater as he stared down at the silver Z.

“Oh, she could do it in our family colours next year,” Ron murmured, thoughtfully looking down at his. Then he shook his head and reached into his bag. He withdrew a bag from Honeydukes, peering into the depths. “These are my presents. They’re not wrapped because I kinda forgot to buy any… anyway, I hope you enjoy them!”

Harry saw Ron’s awkward smile and gave his strongest one back. He took the lollies Ron handed out, eager to see what the ginger-haired boy had gotten him.

There was a stack of pumpkin pastries, which Harry had fallen in love with since his first ride on the Hogwarts Express. Behind that package was a box of Labyrinth Lollies. They were lollipops the size of his fist with ridges – in the centre, a silver ball sat.

“I got one lolly that you like, and one thing I think you’d like. Harry, the Labyrinth Lollies have a little ball you have to get out before the lolly starts dissolving. You have to get it out within five minutes or you can’t eat the lolly!”

Ron went on to discuss Hermione’s and Blaise’s new lollies as Harry opened one Labyrinth Lolly and tried to direct the silver ball out. When it fell onto his palm, he allowed himself to breathe.

“That was almost like yesterday,” he laughed, popping the ball into his mouth. It was hard sugar. The ridges on the lollipop faded away.

Ron shoved Harry in the shoulder lightly. “I bought it _before_ the Trial!”

“Speaking of the Trials,” Hermione interjected. “What did you think of it?”

“I can’t believe you guys just _did_ it,” Blaise shook his head, opening his bag of red liquorice spirals.

“Have we seen anything talking about the next Trial?”

They all shook their heads.

“Blugh!” Ron’s chair shook as he wrenched himself away from the Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean in his fingers. “ _Soap!_ …Oh, sorry, my bad.”

“What did you guys think about it?”

“The blackout at the end freaked me out.”

“Did you guys see anything in the dark?” Harry said, thinking back to the moving shapes he swore he saw.

“Oh, that’s your brain playing tricks on you,” Hermione informed him. “It _wants_ to see something in the dark, so it begins to make something out of nothing. Don’t trust anything you see in the pitch black.”

“Really?” Harry frowned. That sounded like a muggle fact. Sure enough, Blaise turned to her.

“Who said that?”

“It’s pretty common when you go caving. I’ve never been, but my mum has. It was one of the warnings the tour guide gave her.”

“I see,” Blaise munched thoughtfully on his spiral. Then, he looked down at the red liquorice. “Wow, Ron, it _is_ pretty good.”

Ron beamed.

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️❤️❤️❤️ PWEASE COMMENT ❤️❤️❤️❤️


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